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Geoffrey Chaucer. 



THE STOIiy OF ENGLISH LITERATOliE 



FOR YOUNG READERS. 



CHAUCER TO COWPER. 



BY 

LUCY CECIL WHITE, 

(MRS. JOHK LILLIE.) 
)l 



')j^r' 



'r^P^ 







BOSTON: 
D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY, 

FEANKLIN ST., COENEB OF HAWLEY. 



t"^ 






COPYRIGHT BY 

D. LOTH ROP & CO. 
1873. 



BOSTON : 
Printed by Albert J. Wright, 79 Milk Street. 



TO 

PAMELA AND EHODA; 

IN LOVING EEMEMBKANCE 
OF 1876. 



^ 




CONTENTS. 

♦ 
I. 

THE DAYS OF CHAUCER. 

England in the Fourteenth Century — Chaucer's early friends, 
and life at Court — Imprisonment, Literary Labors and Death 
— The Canterbury Tales. pp. 20 — 56 

II. 

THE DAYS OF SPENSER. 

"Merry England" — Sir Philip Sidney — Ponsonby's — Spen- 
ser's Secretaryship — The Fcery Queen — Burial in Westmin- 
ster Abbey. pp. 57 — 80 



CONTENTS. 

III. 

THE EARLY DRAMA AND DRAMATISTS. 

Inn-Yard Theatres — The Fh'st Tragedy — The First Theatre 

— Kit Marlowe — At Blackfriars. pp. 8i — io6 

IV. 

SHAKESPEARE AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES. 

The Birth-place of Shakespeare — Early life — The Country- 
town of Queen Elizabeth's Day — Shakespeare as an Actor — 
In London — Ben Jonson. pp. 107 — 134 

V. 

SHAKESPEARE AND HIS coNTEMPOjiARiES. {Continued^ 

Friendship between Shakespeare and Ben Jonson — Queen 
Elizabeth atthe theatre — Shakespeare leaves London, 1609 — 
His life at Stratford — His daughters — His death, in 1616 — 
Relics preserved at Stratford — Ben Jonson's last years — The 
Apollo Club — Randolph, the poet, meets Jonson — Death of 
Jonson, in 1623 — Extracts. pp. 135 — 160 

VI. 

FRANCIS BACON. 

Bacon's Boyhood at York House — Early Glimpses of Court 
Splendors — Queen Elizabeth and her " Young Lord Keeper " 

— The Queen at Dinner — Bacon's Education — Death of his 



CONTENTS. 

Father and Ungenerous Conduct of his Uncle — Bacon in 
Parh'ament — His Strange Ingratitude to the Earl of Essex 
— Execution of Essex and Death of the Queen — Bacon's 
Marriage, and Brilliant Career at Court — Literature and Sci- 
ence at Gorhambury — Bacon's Guilt and Terrible Downfall — 
Ben Jonson's Views of Him — Last Days. pp. i6i — 186 

VII. 

JOHN MILTON AND JOHN BUNYAN. 

Milton's birthplace — Early Puritan influences — School-days at 
St. Paul's — Music over the Scrivener's shop — " The Lady " 
at Cambridge University — Life at Horton — Origin of the 
Masque of Comus — Travels in France and Italy — UAlIegi'o 
and // Penseroso — Milton's "garden-house " and pupils at 
Aldersgate — His first marriage — Political troubles — Mil- 
ton's reply to the King's pamphlet — Execution of Charles II. 
and triumph of the Roundheads — Milton becomes Foreign 
Secretary to the Commonwealth — Failure of his eyesight — 
Andrew Marvell, his secretary — Death of Milton's wife and 
son — His total blindness — Marriage, and death of his second 
wife — The Quaker's prophecy — Death and funeral of Oliver 
Cromwell — Restoration of Charles II., and peril of Milton — 
Publication of Paradise Lost and its cool reception — Milton's 
third marriage and last days at Bunhill Fields — Fate of 
daughter and descendants. PP- iS? — 216 

VIII. 

JOHN DRYDEN AND HIS TIMES. 

A glance at the court of Charles II., the sports and pastimes — 
Revival of the theatre — John Dryden — Early Puritan im- 
pressions — Education at Westminster and Cambridge — 



CONTENTS. 

Death of his father — Visit to his uncle, Sir John Driden — 
Rejection by his cousin Honor — Dryden at the court of Oli- 
ver Cromwell — His famous tribute to Cromwell's memory — 
His greeting to the restored King — A morning stroll with the 
King and his favorites — Coarseness of the Drama and Liter- 
ature under Charles II. — Dryden writes a play — Visit to the 
Earl of Berks — Marriage with Lady Elizabeth Howard — 
Dryden attacked by ruffians — The King suggests a poem — 
Last days and shocking death-scene of Charles II. — Dryden 
becomes Poet-Laureate under James II., and loses the honor 
under William and Mary — The poet's home in Gerrard 
Street — Famous evenings at " Will's coffee-house " — Intro- 
duction of "lampooning" — Dryden and Jacob Tonson, the 
publisher — The Ode to St. Cecilia and Alexander'' s Feast — 
Impurity of the Drama — Dryden's scruples and repentance — 
His last days. pp. 217 — 245 

IX. 

ADDISON AND STEELE. [1672-1791.] [1671-1792.] 

The Court of Queen Anne and "Queen Sarah" — A walk in 
Addison's London — Addison and Steele at the Charterhouse 
school — Dick Steele's mischief and scrapes — A holiday at 
Lichfield — Addison at Oxford Universiiy — His travels on 
the Continent — Steele's career in the army — The friends 
meet in London — Politics and literature — Godolphin gives 
Addison a commission — Addison in Ireland — Steele's plan 
for a newspaper — Success of The Tatler — Plan of The 
Spectator — Addison and his friends at the " Grecian " coffee- 
house — Steele's recklessness — Lady Steele at Hampton 
Court — The lion's head at "Button's" coffee-house — 
Levees at Kensington Palace — The dangers of traveling by 
coach — Addison in full dress — His courtship of Lady War- 
wick — First night of Cato at Drury Lane — Addison as State 
Secretary — Marriage with the Countess and life at Holland 



CONTENTS. 

House — Coolness between Addison and Steele — Addison's 
last hours — Steele's peaceful end. pp. 246 — 271 

X. 

ALEXANDER POPE AND HIS FRIENDS. 

A boy's glimpse of Dryden — Pope's childhood — A visit to 
London — His mother's reminiscences — Boyish friendships — 
His first publisher — A desperate venture — Sudden popu- 
larity — " The Rape of the Lock " — Pope's villa at Twicken- 
ham — His personal appearance — The Prince of Wales and 
his court at Richmond — Lady Mary Wortley Montague and 
the " Kit-Kats " — Lord Hervey — Life of a maid-of-honor 
in 1730 — Kneller's portrait of Lady Mary — Pope's enmity — 
Later works — Writers and celebrities of his day — His last 
hours. pp. 272 — 296 

XI. 

DOCTOR JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES. [1709-1784.] 

A glance at Johnson's nature, appearance and career — Early 
days at Lichfield — Touched by Queen Anne for " King's 
Evil " — ^ Goes to Oxford University — His singular marriage 
— Opens a school — David Garrick as a pupil and comrade — 
Johnson enters the literary world of London ; its sad condi- 
tion — Starving authors in Grub Street — Richardson, the 
printer and novelist — Genius and patronage — Fashion and lux- 
ury of the town — Johnson writes for The Rambler and the 
Genile?nan's Magazine — Compiles his famous dictionary — 
Death of his wdfe — Johnson receives a pension from George 
IIL — His first meeting with Boswell — Tom Davies' dinner 
and tea-parties — Leicester Square in I766 ; a dinner with Sir 



CONTENTS. 



Joshua Reynolds — A midnight revel with " Beau " and 
" Lanky " — Burke, the statesman. pp. 297 — 314 



XII. 

DR. JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES. 
OLIVER GOLDSMITH [1728-I774.] 

Parentage — Early struggles in London — Employed by Rich- 
ardson, the novelist-printer — The ^^^ — Letters of a Chinese 
philosopher — The Citizen of the World — First meeting be- 
tween Goldsmith and Dr. Johnson — Goldsmith in society — 
The " Literary Club " and its famous members — " Goldy " 
at work on 7]^^ Traveler — His foolish manners — Johnson 
rescues him from his landlady — The Vicar of Wakefield — 
The Jessamy Bride — A tailor's bill one hundred years ago — 
First performance of She Stoops to Conquer — Goldsmith's 
histories — Anecdote of Gibbon — Goldsmith's death and 
funeral. PP. 315 — 333 



XIII. 

DR. JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES. — III. 

The Doctor and his lady friends — Mrs Thrale and her guests 
at Streatham — Fanny Burney's first novel — Mrs. Elizabeth 
Montague and the " Blue-stockings " — Amusements and fes- 
tivities at " Thrale Hall " — Tea parties and fashionable so- 
ciety in London — Favorite topics of conversation in 1780 — 
Doctor Johnson as a talker — His whimsical household at 
Bolt Court — His house as seen to-day — Mrs. Thrale's mar- 
riage — Last days of Dr. Johnson, pp. 334 — 354 



CONTENTS. 

XIV. 

THE CLOSE OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 

Richard Brinsley Sheridan, dramatist and orator — His brilliant 
career and sad end — Cowper and his poems — Early melan- 
choly and subsequent insanity — Origin of the ballad of John 
Gilpin — Lady Austen suggests The Task — Horace Walpole 
and the associations of " Strawberry Hill " — Gray's Elegy 
in a Country Church-yard — An extraordinary auction sale. 
— Robert Burns, the ploughboy, becomes a social lion at 
Edhiburgh — His temptation and fall — Chatterton, the " boy 
poet " and literary forger — His singular deceptions and sad 
ending. pp. 355 __ 366 



PREFACE. 

+♦♦ • 

A few words of introduction seem needed 
to this little book, which has grown into far 
greater proportions than was at first in- 
tended. The design of the work is very 
simple : to convey first impressions in an 
easy, familiar fashion, treating more of the 
lives, times and influence of great authors 
than of their works, and so preparing the 
young reader for the day when he shall 
learn and appreciate as a scholar. 

The papers included in the present vol- 
ume were originally prepared for two young 
people who were just stepping mto the 
fascinating region of English Literature, 
and bringing to it a touch of romance and 
curiosity without which all records must 
seem dull indeed. To them, and to all 
other young people who may read the book, 
the story is told with a view to fixing dom- 
inant periods and people on the mind, leav- 



PREFACE. 

ing untouched whatever is unnecessary, or 
unsuited to young readers. Religious 
influences in English Literature are treated 
only in a general way, but whatever pro- 
duced a distinct phase of thought, such as 
the Puritan or Restoration periods, is refer- 
red to. Marginal notes and references to 
authorities are so wearisome to young 
readers that they have been constantly 
avoided ; but the book has been prepared 
from the best printed and MSS. authorities^ 
and I must here beg to express my appre- 
ciation of the kindness and attention of 
library officials in England, and especially 
of the courteous and scholarlv assistance 
of Mr. Garnett, of the British Museum. 

If this little work presents to the young 
people before whom it is placed, any pic- 
tures which seem real of the times and lives 
of those who make the " World of books ; " 
if any impulses towards the purest and best 
in literature are stirred and strengthened, 
the author's purpose will be gratefully 
achieved. 

" Slieve Russell," Ireland, 
Oct. 1878. 



THE STOEY OF ENGLISH LITER ATUEE 

FOR YOUNG READERS. 



I. 

THE DAYS OF CHAUCER. 



England in the Fourteenth Century — Chaucer's early friends, 
and life at Court — Imprisonment, Literary Labors and Death 
— The Canterbury Tales. 

I WISH we might, for one day, find ourselves in 
the England of the Fourteenth century when 
Geoffrey Chaucer wrote his wonderful poems. To 
understand his poetry, we must picture the mode of 
life ; the look of streets and country lanes, of build- 
ings in town and out, of meadows and forests, of 
how the knights and ladies lived in castles or 
" Manoirs " as they were called, the Tradespeople 
living in smaller dwellings, and the lower class a peas- 

17 



i8 The Story of English Literature 

antiy toiling away in poverty, learning nothing, 
living roughly among themselves and looking up to 
the knights and squires and great people of the time 
in their wonderful dazzling costumes, as their lawful 
rulers to whom they were bound to submit. 

Going over England today we find on every side 
some marks of those days — I am sorry many of the 
old buildings are fast disappearing, but now and then 
one finds a castle or dwelling house with much of Ed- 
ward the Third's day about it; and we can readily pic- 
ture an old " Manoir " of the Fourteenth century with 
its long hall and banquetting table ; its knights and 
ladies, its squires, pages, cooka and maidens, its re- 
tainers and yeomen and porters, its courtyard where 
the "varlets " stood about, waiting to catch a rein or 
stirrup, where there was constant clanging of hoofs 
and show of fine costumes, where sometimes stately 
processions formed and filed out of the gates on their 
way to joust and tournament, where banners waved, 
and lances glittered in the sun, where many times the 
master and the squire were carried in solemnly for 
the last time, where every plume was doffed and 
every heart saddened by-the bloodshed and war that 
raged so often in the country, and where the women, 
working and waiting and gossiping at home, had, I 
fear, but dull lives of it, for all the poets and story 



For Young Readers. 19 

tellers sung and wrote of them. Can 3^ou fancy the 
England of those days ? Let me describe a great 
house of that time and from it you can best judge the 
mode of life among the occupants. 

In Edward the Third's day, buildings had begun to 
improve greatly ; two or three centuries before — or 
perhaps less — the dwelling houses, even of the great, 
consisted only of the main hall, and one or two rooms 
above ; to these were gradually added other rooms, 
and towers and turrets, and in the Manor-houses of 
today you can trace the period very accurately in the 
architecture. The houses were frequently built in a 
semicircle or quadrangle about the courtyard which 
was a very important place as you will see. The hall 
of entrance was the main part of the castle. Here 
not only were all the meals eaten, but it was the gen- 
eral place of assemblage, and hence its spacious air, 
and many windows — a smaller room came into very 
general use in Edward's time and was called the " Par- 
loir," which signij&ed a "talking room" from the French 
verb ^''Parler " to speak, and from which we have our 
Parlor. The hall was furnished with more comfort 
than any other room in the house. In the centre was 
a long table: Sometimes this consisted of heavy 
boards laid upon trestles, but among the wealthy 
Stationary tables came into use and were called 



?.o The Story of English Literature 

"Tables dormant^ Chaucer in his Canterbury Tales 
speaks of these."^ A smaller table stood upon the 
Dais, or platform, at the upper end of the hall, where 
the Lord of the Castle and his guests ate. 

Behind this, and frequently around the oaken walls, 
rich tapestries were hung. Midway at the right was 
usually a huge fire place and above it, sometimes, a 
sort of two-storied mantle shelf, where odd things 
were placed. A dresser stood at one end of the hall 
where the steward kept certain table articles, and oc- 
casionally a large chest was also part of the furniture. 
Above on the rafters perches were sometimes placed 
where curtains were swung or parts of the knights' 
attire hung up. Benches of a very plain style, and 
with room for two or three people, were placed 
about the hall, and a fine bench with tapestry or 
carpet thrown over was used at the Dai's. The 
sleeping rooms were but scantily furnished. The 
beds were very soft and rich in covering and at the 
foot a box was built in, known as the Hutch. We find 
this Hutch often spoken of in old romances of the 
day. Here treasures or jewels were kept over night. 
The chest was also used in the sleeping rooms. 

The window forms a prominent place in all the 
houses and old illustrations of the Fourteenth cen- 

* Description of the Frankleyn. 



For Young Readers. 21 

tury. It usually had a deep window seat; some- 
times small panes of glass made a casement, some- 
times only wooden blinds on hinges were used, and 
this, as well as other reasons, will account for all the 
drapery used in the middle ages ; not only did they 
wish to keep out cold and draughts but, as we shall 
see, the principal occupation of the ladies of the day 
was the embroidering and weaving of cloths used 
for curtaining and hangings as well as banners and 
fine costumes. Balconies and outside galleries were 
frequently used, and from these, on festive occasions, 
gay cloths and banners used to be flung while the la- 
dies above in their mixed costumes and quaint head- 
dresses must have added very much to the pictur- 
esqueness of the scene. 

A nobleman in his castle was like the mayor or 
governor of a city ; so many people were under him, 
and as it was quite a common occurance for them to 
be attacked no wonder they tried to make their resi- 
dences secure. The warder or porter at the gate, 
was very careful whom he admitted ; when a guest 
arrived, the host frequently went down to the en- 
trance to receive him, if he was of high rank, and es- 
corted him into the hall. He had left his weapons 
with the porter, but a page took his hat and gloves 



22 The Story of EfigHsh Literature 

from him before he sat down, and as an old romancer 

says 

"But 'ere he satte in any sete 
He saluted there, grete and smalle 
As a gentille man shuld m halle.* 

Within the castle gates the Hves led were of course 
various. There were the lords, who were always 
skilled at arms and much given to fighting either in 
real war or the tournament. The squires were al- 
ways the sons of gentlemen, young men who were 
sent to the great houses to learn the accomplish- 
ments thought worthy of their rank. These were, 
of course, chiefly skilled in horsemanship, and the 
use of the weapons of the day — bravery and con- 
stancy were leading virtues, and made many other- 
wise stupid men famous all over England. Next, 
the young squires learned to carve gracefully at ta- 
ble and to dance and sing well that they might be favor- 
ites in court society. Some of the ballads and light 
literature of the day they learned. If they went to 
Oxford or Cambridge Universities, Latin and French 
and other languages were acquired, with some logic 
and mathematics ; but few young men of the day could 
do more than read and write, while many could not 
even accomplish so much. The women were fre- 

* Weber's Metrical Romances. 



For Young Readers. 23 

quently more learned, but you see from their mode of 
life it was hard to be anything but narrow minded. 
Some of the monks held schools and to these the 
poor were invited. 

The maidens in the castles were often ladies of 
gentle birth sent also to to be improved by refined 
associations and to be well brought up ; they waited 
on the lady of the house, frequently performing men- 
ial services, and they were on very familiar terms with 
the nobleman's family and his guests. Besides these 
squires and maidens, innumerable servants were kept, 
and retainers who lived on the domain and were 
bound to obey the baron's bidding. 

Home life had certain pleasures but not much con- 
tinued peace in those warlike days 3 an old couplet 
will show you the hours of rising and eating ; 

'^ Lever (or rise) at six, 
Disiier (or dine) at dix (ten), 
Soiiper (or sup) at six, 
Coiccher (or sleep) at <fzx." 

but an earlier supper about four was frequently taken. 
Although the dinner hour was between nine and ten 
in the morning it lasted some time; in great houses 
being served with much ceremony. It came in three 
courses, and in spite of much we would call barba- 
rous in the mode of eating, the cooking was very 



24 The Story of English Literature 

elaborate and dishes made up in the most ornamental 
way. Music preceded the banquet; the squires 
carved and waited on the table, while the dishes were 
brought in by servants in a stately procession, on 
great occasions followed by minstrels performing on 
small harps, lutes, citterns etc. 

The mode of eating required a great deal of per- 
son-al cleanliness, I should think. Two people ate 
from the same treiicher; and this until after Chaucer's 
day, was made of a huge slice of bread on which the 
meats were laid ; old MSS. are full of allusions to 
manners of eating etc., and there is an old volume of 
instructions as to how to keep one's fingers out of the 
gravy, and how to keep one's face clean at table ! 
Later on, I rejoice to say, silver platters were intro- 
duced, but in Chaucer's time no such thing was 
known, and fingers were used instead of forks ! 

After dinner the minstrels usually came in; these men 
went from castle to castle, and sang songs which were 
long accounts of history or people j sometimes of the 
ancestors of the baron in whose hall they sat. Gradu- 
ally these stories became well known, and about 
Chaucer's day, were used by the preachers in order 
to interest their congregations. About the same time 
some monks put them into book form and they exist 
to-day in Latin and are, aS you may well imagine, curl- 



For Young Readers. 25 

ous stories which sliow us much of that mediseval period. 
Carols were also sung at Christmas and Easter Tide, 
sometimes without the portals, sometimes within. 
These form a considerable portion of the Literature 
of the Fourteenth centur3\ Here is one from an old 
MS. sung at Christmas ; 



" In this tyme a chyld was born — 
To save the sowle that wern forlorn, 
For us he werde a garlond of thorn 
Al it was for our honour." * 



After listening a time to the minstrelsy the ladies, in 
fine weather, usually went out into the gardens ; some- 
times by themselves, sometimes followed by the 
knights. t 

Gardens were very beautiful even in those early 
times, and the love of nature and the time of blossom 
and flower, which is so much spoken of in old poems 
and romances, grew from the fondness of people of 
medieval times for out of door life. The middle and 
lower classes roamed about freely. The ladies of 
gentle birth had their gardens and parks. Chaucer is 
noted for his love of floral scenes and the English 
daisy is known to this day as Chaucer's flower. All 

* See books of Percy Society. 

t From these, customs of to-day can be traced. 



26 The Story of English Literature 

romancers of the Fourteenth century celebrate the 
gardens, groves, and forests. When May-day came^ 
even Londoners went to the woods to gather gar- 
lands of hawthorn, woodbine, and the pretty May 
flower. 

Here are a few lines from an old MS. of the day, 
showing how in the literature of the time, nature and, 
above all, the spring season was dwelt upon. 

" In the season of April and May when fields and 
plants become green again and everything living re- 
covers virtue, beauty, and force, hills and glades re- 
sound with the sweet songs of birds ; and the hearts 
of all people, for the beauty of the weather and the 
season, rise up and gladden themselves. Then, we 
ought to call to memory the adventures and deeds of 
prowess of our forefathers who laboured to seek hon- 
our in loyalty, and to talk of such things as shall be 
profitable to many of us." f 

Sometimes half the day was spent in the gardens 
where games were frequently played. Chess was a 
favorite game, and, a Httle later, cards came in fashion. 
Within doors, the ladies worked on frames, embroid- 
ering in flowers and coats-of-arms. At tournaments 
some fair lady always presented the victor with a 

* It was some days in advance of our first of May. 
t MS. British Museum Beg. 12. C. XII. 



For Young Readers. 27 

scarf worked by herself, and not unfrequently secret 
messages were wrought in silk, and the minstrels 
were employed as messengers. 

Hospitality was universal among high and low; in 
the castles the guest of rank was escorted by ladies 
and maidens to his apartment \ there he was furnished 
with fine linens, and, sometimes, perfumed baths, and 
treated with every attention. Among the Burghers, or 
Tradespeople, hospitality was also freely extended ; a 
knight or poor way-farer riding up, no matter how un- 
known, was always given shelter and food if he asked it. 
In such ways a Christian spirit was thought to be shown; 
but gradually the Burghers began to let out lodgings, 
and in the towns it became very general to find rooms 
and service at one's disposal over night for a small 
or large sum, while the large Inns or hostelries 
were more for the commoner classes. 

The Burghers lived very comfortably ; but in this 
class and the lower one, there was a great freedom 
of speech and manner, which we would think coarse 
and repulsive to-day. Hence in the literature of the 
period we find a great deal which is not fit to be read 
and can only impair or destroy the Christian purity 
and innocence of a young mind ; but when written, it 
was simply a reflection of the people and their ways 
of living and speaking. 



28 The Story of English Literature 

You have seen now something of home life in the 
Fourteenth century. I told you that the women of 
the household spun and wove various cloths and 
hnens ; but there were also some manufacturers which 
the good Queen Phillipa of Hainault protected. The 
workmen at first w^ere from Flanders, Italy and 
France, but gradually Englishmen learned the craft 
although for a long time they were quite indifferent 
to it. From specimens shown to-day, the fabrics 
manufactured were very many, and we find old ac- 
counts of linens, and crewel cloth, and sarsanets, and 
gold cloths, made and charged to various people at 
very high prices. 

Dress was very sumptuous among the great, and 
comfortable and picturesque among the middle class. 
Head-dresses were various, and were greatly ridiculed 
even by those who wore them. 'I'he men wore silken 
hose, and the " Cote hardie " or " Tabard," a long 
tight fitting garment reaching nearly to the knees and 
often richly embroidered. Cloaks were also worn, 
and the armor was of steel, richly chased or linked. 

At court there was, of course, much ceremonial and 
splendor, but not always great comfort. The large 
towns were busy places. London, although by no 
means what it is to-day, was a great city ; the Tower 
was built and used as a palace, prison, fortress, etc. 



For Young Readers, 29 

The king lived much at Woodstock Palace, which 
Phillipa also loved. 

While life was gay and sad, rich and poor, litera- 
ture was not widely appreciated. There were some 
great students, but few books had been written which 
the people cared for. Religious stories and poemg 
had been collected by the monks. Some beautiful 
ballads and histories of an earlier day are to be read 
now. The poems of "Beowulf" and "Coedmon," 
Aldhelm and Cynewulf, Brunanburk and I^Ialdon, 
the prose of Boeda, a monk of the Seventh century, 
who says, " while attentive to the rule of my order 
and the service of my church my constant pleasure 
lay in learning, or teaching, or writing," the poetry of 
Osmin, — all these interesting as they are I can only 
allude to. The real beginning of English poetry, as 
we know it to-day, was in the Fourteenth century. 

Among the students at Oxford, somewhere about 
1348, were three young men, one, Geoffrey Chaucer, 
John Gower, and "Ralph Strode. The three were 
great friends and comrades and all destined to be 
distinguished in literature ; but Chaucer's name is best 
known and beloved to-day. He was a young man in 
those days and not yet famous in the court of Edward 
III., although he had already translated the " Ro- 
mance of the Rose " a French poem by William de 



so The Story of English Literature 

Louis written between 1200 and 1230. He was full 
of animation and vivacity, and laughing spirits, a 
contrast to Gower who was sedate and thoughtful, 
but the two formed a close friendship which no change 
of fortune ever broke, and it is to the honor of both 
that it lasted in a time when political feeling might 
have divided them.* 

Geoffrey Chaucer was the son of a wine merchant 
living in London, and was born in 1328.! It is to be 
regretted that the story of his life is not more clearly 
known, since from the principal events we can see 
how interesting it must have been. His father ap- 
pears to have given him every advantage, and from 
his associating with courtiers and people of rank we 
judge him to have been of very good family, as in his 
day the distinction between people of noble and com- 
mon birth was very great. It is supposed that he 
was sent both to Oxford and Cambridge and he cer- 
tainly seems to have been very learned for his day. 
As I have told you he began to write when very 
young; in 1356 he received his first official appoint- 
ment, after which he was continually to be found or 
heard of in some way associated with the court. At 

* Some authorities aver that their intercourse was broken just before Gower's 
death but I can find no satisfactory evidence to uphold this idea. 

t Evidences are conflicting as to tlie exact date of his birth; some writers 
giving it as 1340, but there seems to be strong evidence in favor of 1328. 



For Young Readers, 31 

this time he was in the service of the king's sons, 
Princes Lionel and John of Gaunt. To the latter he 
was devoted all his life; and many of Chaucer's sweet- 
est poems are associated with the name of his great 
patron. About 1358 he wrote for him a poem enti- 
tled "The Assembly of Fowles." 

Edward's court was an encouraging one for the 
young poet, and he was held in high favor. In 1359 
he accompanied the king and his sons in their march 
to Paris. Your history tells you the story of the war, 
how when bloodshed was at its height Edward vowed 
to God to make a peace. Chaucer had been taken 
prisoner, and when the peace was made he was re- 
leased. Fond as he was of the king's service he was 
no great warrior, but prefered his English life of 
peace and plenty where he could walk about in the 
beautiful spring time and admire the daisies and field 
flowers to his heart's content. He received from the 
crown a pension of twenty marks, worth in our day 
about seven hundred dollars, and later, other sums 
and favors were added to it. His brain was never 
idle, but usually his great poems were written for 
some special occasion : the Duchess Blanche, John 
of Gaunt's wife, died, and in her memory Chaucer 
wrote the " Book of the Duchess." Soon after John 
married again, and in the service of the new duchess 



32 The Story of English Literature 

was one Mistress Swinford, the daughter, it is sup- 
posed, of Sir Paon de Rowet ; and her sister, Phillipa, 
was one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting. The two 
sisters must have been attractive women, although 
we know very little in detail of their histories, for af- 
ter the death of Constance, John of Gaunt married 
Katherine Swinford, and Chaucer, at the queen's death, 
married Phillipa. 

In 1372 Chaucer was sent to Italy on a commis- 
sion for the king, and there we suppose he met the 
famous Italian poets, Petrarch and Bocaccio. The lat- 
ter had written a famous book, "The Decameron," 
and it was from this Chaucer took the main idea, as 
well as the plots of several of his Canterbury Tales. 
When he returned new favors were bestowed upon 
him ; not only in money but some curious privileges 
such as a daily pitcher of wine from the king's table ! 
He was also given in charge of one of the ports, but 
while at court he had a cottage at Woodstock, and 
lived very comfortably. He must have been highly 
respected by the king, for he was frequently sent on 
private messages to different countries and he was 
even employed to arrange matters for the marriage 
of the Black Prince. 

Matters fared comfortably enough until Edward's 
death, and John of Gaunt's absence in Portugal, 



For Young Readers. 33 

whither he had gone to attend the wedding of his 
daughter PhilHpa with King John of Portugal, and 
for which occasion Chaucer wrote his lovely poem 
" The Flower and the Leaf." 

The Duke of Gloucester was managing the govern- 
ment, and a parliament was held called " The Merci- 
less." There were many disturbances among the peo- 
ple, and especially a great contest for the mayorship 
of the city of London. In this Chaucer, foolishly 
enough, took part. He should have been content, like 
his friend John Gower, to lead the life of a peaceful 
country gentleman, but entering into the contest he 
had to fly from England. Many of his associates fol- 
lowed him, and he generously supported them as long 
as his money lasted ; but he came back to his native 
land almost penniless, and it is supposed he was for 
some time imprisoned in the Tower. You know that 
Richard II., son of the Black Prince, was deposed, 
and his cousin, Henry of Lancaster, having murdered 
him in Pontefract Castle, was made king. One of the 
first acts of the new reign, and the return of John of 
Gaunt, was to improve poor Chaucer's condition. 
Richard had built Westminster Hall, and Palace ; and 
on the same grounds Chaucer rented a small dwell- 
ing where he went on with his literary work, the king 
granting him a pension. At this time he seems to 



34 The Story of English Literature 

have been very much alone in the world. His old 
friend Gower lived on the other side of London 
Bridge in Southwark, close by the church of St. Sav- 
iour, where you may see his tomb to-day. 

Chaucer had written many short poems, and at dif- 
ferent times worked on his most famous book, the 
Canterbury Tales. Had he lived, these would un- 
doubtedly have been finished and a number of stories 
added to those we have to-day; as it is they are 
among the most wonderful works of genius and im- 
agination. Gower had at this time written " The 
Speculum Meditantis," the "Vox Clamantis " and 
"The Confessio Amantis." The latter is his only 
English work and the title signifies, "The Confession 
of Love." It is a curious book and the design is well 
known. One day while Gower was rowing on the 
Thames the king's barge approached, and Richard 
called Gower to come near ; as he did so, the king 
begged him to " book some new thing" and the re- 
sult was this " Confession of Love," in which Gower 
mixes up allegory, science, satire, in comic or pa- 
thetic tales; but they are none of them equal to Chau- 
cer's simplest stories. 

Chaucer wrote the " Parsonnes Tale " in his little 
house near Westminster Abbey. I think his gay 
spirits had quite given out. He had lived a busy 



For Young Readers. 35 

life and seen his friends die, one by one. He could 
remember great court scenes. Tournaments had 
been held on Cheapside in London, in his young days^ 
where now only busy shops and offices are situated. 
He had little interest in the new court, for all the 
king's kind consideration. He wrote in those days a 
book for his son Lewis, called " Bread and Milk for 
Babes, or the Conclusions on the Astrolabe." There 
is certainly no loss of power in his last poems, in 
spite of his loneliness and old age. In 1400, one 
year and a day after he came to live at Westminster, 
he died, and was buried in the great Abbey, where, 
years after, a monument was erected to his name. 

And now something remains to be told of his 
works, especially the gi"eatest, " The Canterbury 
Tales." You must bear in mind that English Litera- 
ture at this time, like the language, was much in- 
fluenced by France ; orthography was very different 
from that of the present day, and many words not 
known or used at present were in common use when 
Chaucer lived ; words like ours were pronounced dif- 
ferently, and the accent on e and a was not like ours, 
the former being like a, the latter lengthened and 
giving a sound more as \i r ox h was added to it. To 
read the original Chaucer a glossary of words is 
really needed; but several more modern poets have 



$6 The Story of English Literature 

given fine modernized editions, of which we may rec- 
ommend C. C. Clarice's, the collections by Home, 
Browning and others, and a very simple and pretty 
rendering of the Canterbury Tales by Mrs. Haweis, 
called "The Golden Key to Chaucer." - 

" The Canterbury Tales " represent a party of Pil- 
grims to Canterbury who meet at an old Inn in 
■ Southwark, just across London Bridge. 

Southwark was then, as it is now, a part of London, 
but green fields and lanes stood in the place of the 
shops and houses which crowd it to-day. The old 
Inn where Chaucer begins the " Canterbury Tales " 
stood down the high road not far from London 
Bridge, and only the other day, it, or the one erected on 
its site about the same time, was partially pulled down. 
It was built, as Inns of the day all were, around a 
courtyard of cobble-stones and pavement. The en- 
trance doors were low and the storeys balconied as 
you see them in the illustration. Only one small por- 
tion of the building remains now, and before these 
words are printed it may have joined the rest, but it 
is well worth a visit. At one side warehouses stand ; 
men and carLs fill the courtyard where Chaucer's 
pilgrims in their varied costumes rode in and out five 
hundred years ago j just to the left, one side of an 
old house is standing ; a worm-eaten balcony ; some 



For Young Readers. 39 

broken-down doors and windows ; a narrow flight of 
steps, and a curious gabled roof, — tliese are all that 
remain of the Tabard Inn. 

A little way beyond stands the old church, near 
which Gower spent his last days and in which he lies 
buried. 

The Pilgrims were supposed to have assembled at 
this old Inn, to rest over night, before proceeding to 
Canterbury; and Chaucer describes himself as meet- 
ing the party there. I will give you his words in the 
old English spoken in his day, and a modernized ver- 
sion, only changed, as you will see, according to the 
fashion of our time ; but by practice and a little knowl- 
edge of Chaucer's English you will come to prefer his 
poems in his own language. Their charm is really 
greater, when once you can understand how to pro- 
nounce the words, and the meaning of a few of his 
terms which we no longer use. 

He begins the Prologue to the Tales by speaking 
of the lovely April weather ; and you must remember 
in all his poems the fact that in the Fourteenth cen- 
tury the seasons were somewhat later than at present. 
I am sure that in the April, when all that company 
met at Southwark, the trees and fields were very 
green and the pretty English hawthorne coming into 
flower. 



40 The Story of English Literature 

He goes on to say ; 



Byfel that in that season on a 

day. 
In Southwerk at the Tabard 

as I lay 
Ready to wenden on my pil- 
grimage, 
To Canterbury with full devout 

corage, 
At night was come into that 

hostelrie, 
Wei nyne aud twenty in a com- 

panie, 
Of Sondry folk by adventure 

i-falle, 
In felawschipe and pilgryms 

were they alle, 
That toward Canterbury wol- 

den ryde. 
And wel we weren esud atte 

berte ; 
And schortly whan the sonne 

was to reste, 
So hadde I spoken with hem 

every chon 
That I was of here felawschipe 

anon. 



It fell, that in that season on a 
day, 

In Southwark, at the Tabard, 
as I lay, 

Out of devotion did I then in- 
tend, 

On Canterbury pilgrimage to 
wend. 

At night was come unto thkt 
hostelry 

Some nine and twenty in a 
company, 

All sorts folks, chance com- 
rades as I found, 

And pilgrims all for Canter- 
bury bound. 

Roomy the chambers, and the 
stakes wide, 

Right well our host did for his 
guests provide ; 

And shortly ere the sun to rest 
had gone, 

I scraped acquaintance with 
them every one ; 

One of their fellowship I 
claimed to be 

Who purposed riding in the 
company. 



He then goes on to describe the company ; they 
consisted of the following people, and in reading the 
list remember their various differences in rank, as 
well as dress and general appearance, so that you 



For Young Readers. 41 

will have before your eyes a picture of the company, 
full of color, as it must have been, — the knights' and 
squires' rich scarlets contrasting with the friars' grey 
and brown, the frankleyn's comfortable air with 
that of the poverty of the ploughman and carpenter: 

A knight, with his son, a young squire, and a yeo- 
man of whom Chaucer says, 

" And he was clad in coote and hood of grene ; " 

a nun, or prioress, and in describing her he speaks 
of her great cleanliness at table, so that we can read- 
ily see it was considered quite a mark of distinction : 

" Indeed I say ; 

She took her food in the most seemly way ; " 

a monk ; a merchant, whose " Flemish Beaver " the 
poet refers to ; a clerk, or scholar, from Oxford, a 
poor man who had studied much and who rode a 
very thin horse ; a sergeant of the law; a haberdasher, 
or shop-keeper ; a weaver, dyer, and embroider of tap- 
estr}'"; a cook ; a shipman ; a doctor j a good " Wife of 
Bath," so called from living near Bath ; a parson, of 
whom Chaucer says, 



" Riche he was of holy thought and werk — 
He was also a learned man a clerke j " 



42 The Story of English Literature 

a miller, and a Reeve a sort of bailiff; a summoner* 
and pard'ner ; and a manciple, or steward of the Tem- 
ple, where the law students were instructed. 

All these being assembled, they supped together 
pleasantly ; the host of the Tabard with them. This 
host was a very merry person, Chaucer says, and I 
don't doubt something quaint in the company im- 
pressed him. He proposed that, as the road to Can- 
terbury was very long and tiresome, each one of the 
pilgrims should agree to tell two stories on the way j 
and he whose tale was the best should have a fine 
supper at the Tabard on their return. To this, all 
the company cheerfully agreed, and the next day they 
rode forth. Can you not fancy them clattering out 
of the old Tabard courtyard and down the road to- 
wards Canterbury ? Heads here and there were put 
out of the windows as they passed. It must have 
been quite a fine sight for the neighborhood. 

At a point often mentioned by old writers, " St. 
Thomas Watering," which was two miles on the way, 
the first story-teller was appointed. It was the knight, 
and he chose an old subject, "The Story of Palamon 
and Arcite." 

Chaucer has taken the plot of this story from Boc- 
caccio, of whose "Decameron" I have already told 

* The Summoner called people before the courts when they had trans- 
gressed the law. These officers were universally detested. 



For Young Readers. 45 

you. It is one of the most beautiful of the " Canter- 
bury Tales," and shows most strongly Chaucer's love 
of warlike glory, as well as the importance which 
used to be attached to love affairs. Although an old 
mythological story, and the characters from ancient 
times, Chaucer has mixed many of the fashions of 
his own day with old heathen practices ; but this was 
very common with writers of the Fourteenth century, 
just as painters of the same time represented Saints 
and Madonnas in the dress of their own period. I 
suppose they considered it the best way in which to 
interest their readers, whose historical and literary 
knowledge was generally too slight to make them ap- 
preciate stories entirely of the past. 

The story is of two brothers, or cousins, Palamon 
and Arcite, rich young men of Thebes who were cap- 
tured by Theseus,- Duke of Athens, and imprisoned 
in a tower within his palace gates. Now the Duke 
had a very beautiful sister-in-law named " Emelye," 
and she, like all the English maidens of Chaucer's 
da}^, loved to walk out in the gardens. She fre- 
quently rose with the dawn so that she might feel the 
first beams of the rising sun. One morning, as poor 
Arcite was looking out of his prison window, he be- 
held her among the lovely, fragrant flowers ; and this 
is Chaucer's pretty description of her, which I will 



46 The Story of English Literature 

give you first in his own words, and they are so nearly 
like our own that it seems a pity to spoil his quaint 
lines by " modernizing," as we call the changing of 
his verse and words into language of the present day : 



" I clothed was sche fressh for to devise, 
Her yolwe (yellow) heer was browdid in a tresse 
Byhynde hire bak, a yerde lang, I gesse — 
And in the gardyn at the Sonne's upriste 
Sche walketh up and down wheer as hire liste, 
She gathereth flowers partye whyte and reede (red) 
To made a certeyn gerlend for hire heede (head) 
And as an anngel hevenly sche song — " 



Arcite on beholding Emelye falls deeply in love 
with her, and Palamon hearing him sigh, looks out of 
the window, and is at once overcome. The two dis- 
pute about it for a time, but their love is so very 
hopeless anger cannot last long. . In time, however, 
Arcite was freed from prison on condition he would 
go and dwell in Thebes. There he was perpetually 
haunted by thoughts of Emelye, but poor Palamon, 
in his prison, sighed still more deeply. 

Seven years had thus passed by, when by help of 
some kind friend, Palamon escaped from his prison, 
and hid himself in a forest. Meanwhile Arcite, be- 
lieving himself so changed that no one in Athens 
would recognize him as the poor prisoner, had re- 
turned to Emelye's home, and there obtained the po- 



For Young Readers, 47 

sition of her page ; calling himself Philostrate. In 
her service he proved himself so accomplished, so el- 
egant, so useful in a thousand ways, that all the court 
wondered at him, and at the time of poor Palamon's 
escape he was in high favor. It chanced on this 
same day Arcite rode out to the forest. Chaucer 
tells us it was May-day. You can see how fond 
he is of the spring tide by always associating her 
blossom and freshness with his tales of love, or peace. 
Here is one extract which describes the sunrise at 
that season : 



" The busy larke, 
The messager of day, 
Saluteth in hire song 
The morwe gray. 
And fyry Phebus 
Ryseth up so brighte 
That al the orient 
Laugheth of the lighte." 



** The busy lark, 
The messenger of day 
Saluteth in her song 
The morning grey — 
And fiery Phoebus 
Riseth up so bright 
That all the orient 
Laugheth for the light." 



Is it not a pretty description of dancing sunbeams ? 
The East, or "orient," smiling and dimpling as they 
rise, and spread over the green fields, and forest 
glades. Arcite, riding forth very joyously, intended 
to make himself a garland of woodbine and haw- 
thorne leaves.* He sang out in his gladness, but 

* Also a medieral practice. In this way Chaucer constantly interests the 
reader of his own day. 



48 



The Story of English Literaiure 



finally, says the poet, grew sad and thoughtful, and 
cried out about Emelye ; upon this, Palamon, hiding 
near by, sprang out, and the two meeting for the first 
time in years, began to fight fiercely. Death might 
have come to one or both, had not a strange inter- 
ruption occurred. The duke and the- ladies of the 
court, who were out hunting, suddenly appeared. 
Their horses were reined in ; the duke cried out to 
the two men to put up their swords, and of course 
they were soon recognized as the two prisoners, Pala- 
mon and Arcite. Poor Palamon was most desper- 
ate of the two, for he was worn out with his sad im- 
prisonment. He cried out : 



" Sire what nedeth wordes mo, 
We heve the deth deserved 

both two, 
Two woful wrecches ben we 

two kaytyres 
That ben encombred oure owne 

lyves." 



" Oh sire, why should we waste 

more words ? 
For both of us deserve to die — 
Two woful wretches are we — 

two caitiffs — 
That are burdened by our own 

lives." 



The story of their hopeless love is told. The duke 
would have put them both to death but for the effect 
the tale had upon his queen and fair Emelye ; " for 
very womanhood " they began to weep. Emelye did 
not wish to marry any one, yet at the sight of these 



For Young Readers. 



49 



two brave men, ready to die for her, she could not 
but have been moved — and here is another proof of 
the power of women in Chaucer's day. Their favor 
was considered quite enough to encourage men to all 
sorts of bravery and peril, and Palamon and Arcite 
were spared death because of their sad love story. 
The result was, that it was agreed in a year's time 
each should bring to a great tournament one hun- 
dred armed knights, and try to win the fair, the " fresh, 
fair Emelye " by skill at arms. 

The day came ; Chaucer's description of the tourna- 
ment field and the temples to Venus, Saturn and Di- 
ana, is wonderful. 

Kings and princes were present — 



" With Arcita 

The gret Emetrius, the king of 

Inde, 
Upon a steede bay, trapped in 

steel 
Covered with cloth of gold 

dyapred wel — 
Cam rydyng lyk the God of 

Armes, Mars. 
His coote armour was of a 

cloth of Tars 
Cowched of perlys whyte, round 

and grete. 
His sadil was of brend gold 

newe bete j 



" With Sir Arcite 

Rode great Emetrius, king of 
India, 

A bay horse with steel hous- 
ings as I've heard, 

Covered with cloth of gold well 
diapered 

Came riding on like Mars, the 

God of wrath — 

His Tabard coat was of a Tar- 
sus cloth. 

Inlaid with great white pearls. 
His saddle too, 

Was all of beaten gold, bur- 
nished anew — 



so 



The Story of English Literature 



A mantlelet upon his schuldre 

hangyng 
Bret ful of rubies reed as fir 

sparclyug 
His crisp her lik rynges was 

iroune 
And that was yalwe and gliter- 

yng as the sonne." 



A mantle round about his 
shoulders spread 

Sparkling like fire was full of 
rubies red. 

His yellow locks about his fore- 
head run 

In crisp short curls that glitter 
like the sun." . 



In further description he goes on to say : 



" Ne who sat first ne last upon 

the deys 
What ladies fayrest ben or best 

dan or syng, 
Or which of hem can dance 

best or sing, 
Ne who mos felyngly speketh 

of love, 
What hawkes sitten on the 

perche above, 
What houndes lyen on the floor 

adown." 



up- 



" Who at the dais had the 
per place 

What ladies were the fairest 
'mong the fair, 

Which danced or sang the best 
of all were there, 

Who could most tenderly de- 
claim of love, 

What kind of hawks sat on the 
perch above — 

What sort of hounds, lay on 
the floor below." 



Here we have, you see, a picture of a scene in 
Chaucer's day. The dais, on which the most distin- 
guished people were assembled by special invitation, 
the fair ladies, the dancing and singing, the perch 
with hawks upon it, and the group of hounds — all 
belong to the court and times of Edward III, and 
were introduced into an ancient story to give it a fa- 
miliar, pleasant air, for the readers of his own day. 



For Young Readers. 



51 



The tilt began ; Arcite had placed himself under 
Saturn's care, and Palamon under that of Venus, 
while pretty Emelye had asked of Diana that neither 
might win her j but Arcite, amidst a tumultuous ap- 
plause, came out victorious j Emily was his ! Just 
as he was riding up towards her, however, he fell and 
was mortally wounded ! They bore him into the pal- 
ace, dying — by this time Emelye's heart was quite 
lost to him, and one of the most pathetic scenes 
in Chaucer's verse is the death-bed of the gallant 
knight. Arcite, with Emelye and Palamon beside 
him, speaks: — 



" Alias the woo ! alas the peynes 

stronge 
That I for you have suffered, 

and so long 1 
Alias the deth I Alias myn 

Emelyne ! 
A.llas departyng of our com- 

painye ! 
Alias myn herter queen ! Alias 

my wyf ! 
My hertes lady — Endere of my 

lifel 
What is this world ! What 

asken men to have ! " 



** Alas the woe — alas the trials 
strong 

That I for you have borne — 
and ah ! so long — 

Alas to die ! Alas my Eme- 
lye ! 

Alas that we so soon part com- 
pany ! 

Alas my heart's one Queen — 
Alas my wife ! 

Ah my heart's lady, ender of 
my life — 

What is this world — what do 
men yearn to have ! " 



He then commends Palamon to her kind love, and 
and dies, murmuring " Emelye." The tale ends 
finally with the marriage of Emelye and Palamon. 



52 The Story of English Literature 

This is a fair specimen of the narrative part, or plot, 
of Chaucer's verse. 

Other stories, of course, are told by the Pilgrims 
journeying along. The clerk tells the famous story 
of Griselda the beggar maiden who married a prince, 
and was so humble and obedient a wife that her 
name, ever since, is used to describe patent submission. 

Some moral is always intended, but the language 
is frequently what we of to-day would consider very 
coarse ; but in Chaucer's time, there was a great lack 
of delicacy, even in common speech, and in order to 
give variety to his tales, he introduces vulgar charac- 
ters, who of course tell vulgar tales, which, however, 
are the least interesting or intelligible to us, and 
were only applicable to his own times. The great 
charm of Chaucer's verse is his power of description, 
especially when speaking of nature ; of summer time ; 
of the fall or flower. Take these three lines for ex- 
ample, in the Frankleyn's Tale. 

" And this was on the sixte morne (morning) of May 
Which May had peynted with his soft schowres 
This gardyn full of leves and of flourers." 

I leave his words, as they can readily be under, 
stood and they are too pretty to change into more 
modern verse. 



For Young Readers, 



53 



Here is the description of Griselda, the poor beg- 
g;ar maiden : 



But though this may den tender 

were of age, 
Yet in the brest of her virgin- 

ite 
There was enclosed rype and 

sad corrage, 
And in gret reverence and char- 

ite 
Hir oldc pore fader fostered 

sche, 
A fewe scheep, spynning, on the 

feld sche kepte. 
Sche wolde not ben ydel til sche 

slepte. 
• ' • and ay sche kept hir 

fadres lif on lofte 
With every obeissance and dil- 
igence 
What child may so to fadres 

reverense. 



But though this maiden was as 

yet so young, 
Under her girlish innocence 

there lay, 
A brave and serious spirit ever 

strong, 
And with good heart she la- 
bored day by day. 
To tend and help her father 

poor and grey — 
Some sheep, while spinning, in 

the fields she kept. 
For never was she idle till she 

slept. 

Keeping her father with untir- 
ing care 

And all obedience and all dili- 
gence 

That child can give to filial rev- 
erence.* 



" Tlie Canterbury Tales " were never finished. As 
I told you Chaucer began them late in his life, and 
he had, no doubt, a very fine plan for their continu- 
ing after the pilgrims reached Canterbury and turned 
their faces homeward again, but he left them incom- 



* Modernized by Mrs. Haweis. 



54 The Story of English Literature ^ 

plete, and no imitators who have tried to finish them 
have been successful. 

And now when you read Chaucer's sweet and flow- 
ing verse try to fancy yourself in the England of his 
day ; one of his Canterbury Pilgrims supping at the 
Tabard Inn. Fill your mind with the look of his 
England ; try to fancy yourself walking with him 
among the lanes and past the blooming hedgerows of 
which he tells us ; then you will begin to appreciate 
what his charm really is j how true to nature are 
all his descriptions ; how beautiful his ideas ; how 
wonderful his character drawing. Beyond this, remem- 
ber that to Chaucer, more than to any one person, we 
owe the English Language as we have it to-day, for it 
was he who combined the French and EngHsh words 
in use, so that their meaning became clearer; he 
who really constructed, in a certain sense, a perma- 
nent English tongue in which all poets could write. 
Changes, of course, have been made, but his was 
the real foundation, and knowing all this, and read- 
ing his lovely verses can you wonder Geoffrey Chau- 
cer is called the "Father of English Poetry?" 



For Young Readers, 55 



List of Chaucer's Works. 

The Canterbury Tales. 

Flower and the Leaf. 

Troilous and Creiside. 

The Romaunt of the Rose. 

The Book of the Duchess. 
Compleynte to Pity. 

Parliament of Foules. 
Annelida and Arcite. 
Boece — The Former Age. 
Lines to Scrivener. 

Legende of Good Women. 

Compleynte of Venue. 

Truth — Modes of God. 

The Treatise on the Astrolabe. 

Contemporaries of Chaucer. 

John Gower. born in Kent 1328, died in Southwark, London, 
1408. He wrote several long poems, three of which are well 
known. The "Vox Clamantis ; " or ''The Voice of Crying; " 
the " Confessio Amantis;" or "Confession of a Lover," and 
the " Speculum Meditantis ; " or the " Thoughts of a Medita- 
tre." 

William Langland, born at Shipton, under Myclewood, au- 
thor of a poem "The Vision of Piers Plowman." In this poem 
Langland tells the story of a dream in which he saw the condi- 
tion of England and various people. 

Sir John Mandeville, a famous traveler who journeyed be- 
tween 1322 and 1352 in the East and wrote his travels in French 
and Latin as well as in English. 



56 The Story of English Literature 

John Wicklif, born in Yorkshire, in 1324. A Master or 
Warden of Balliol College at Oxford. He made a translation of 
the Bible and wrote on various religious subjects. 

Ralph Strode, a Dominican monk of Jedburgh Abbey. He 
wrote a great deal in Latin and English, on various topics, but 
few are now of special interest. 

Richard Augervyle, known as Richard of Bury, born in 
1 281 ; died 1344. Appointed tutor to Prince Edward, after- 
wards King Edward IH. He became Bishop of Durham, and 
exercised his power well, giving much in charities and instruct- 
ing all whom he could. His chief work was a Latin Treatise 
on the love of books and how to use them, entitled, " Philobib- 
Ion!''' In this a famous paragraph is the following : 

" O books, ye only are liberal and free who pay tribute to all 
who ask it, and enfranchise all who serve you faithfully! " 

He left a large library. 

Thomas Bradwardine, born 1290; died 1340. He wrote on 
scientific subjects and was called the " Profound Doctor." 
Chaucer refers to him in the Nun's Priest's Tale, in the " Can- 
terbury Tales." 

John of Fordreau, wrote a chonicle of Scotland from the 
Flood to 1360. 

John of Tookklow, Henry of Blaneford, and Robert of 
AvESBURY, compiled different annals of English History, with 
extracts from documents, letters etc. 

Ralph Higden wrote a famous book called the " Polychroni- 
con," which was the chronicle of different periods. It was al- 
most a universal history. He is supposed to be the author of 
the Miracle Plays acted in Chester during the Fourteenth cen- 
tury. He died in 1363. 

John of Saddesden, the physician to Edward HI, wrote on 
the practice of physic. Some parts of his work are very amus- 
ing ; the remedies given for different diseases reading as if from 
Fairy Tales, 



For Young Readers. cy 



II. 



THE DAYS OF SPENSER. 



Merry England " — Sir Philip Sidney — Ponsonby's — Spen- 
ser's Secretaryship — The Fcsry Queen — Burial in Westmins- 
ter Abbey. 



THE AGE of Chaucer ended early in the Fif- 
teenth century. The period of which I wish 
now to tell you began more than one hundred years 
later. I must take for granted that you know your 
English History, and what kings and queens had gov. 
erned England since the death of Chaucer. When 
we reach Queen Elizabeth's day, in 1550, we find 
what was known as " Merry England." Everything 
had altered, even before Elizabeth came to the 
throne. 

Houses were finer, London grown into a more 
prosperous city j lords and ladies, peasants and yeo- 
men, all lived in greater comfort 3 and learning was 



58 The Story of English Literature 

much more general. Let us fancy a great manor 
house where Queen Elizabeth and her ladies-in-waiting 
and some of her esquires, pages, and servants were 
entertained for a week of feasting and splendor. I 
was in one such the other day ; many pieces of the 
very furniture used in the Sixteenth century remain ; 
the great banqueting-hall, as in the days of Chaucer, 
was there, unchanged in form, though many comforts 
and elegancies had been added. At the upper end a 
splendid stair-case which led up and across a sort of 
gallery where tapestries and rich hangings were draped, 
sometimes swords crossed and helmets hung. The 
upper chambers were furnished in rather stiff, heavily 
carved furniture. A rich bed, in which the queen 
had slept three nights, had four massive posts and a 
rich canopy of satin ; stoves and fire-places were gen- 
eral j rich carpetings, and windows with innumerable 
panes of glass. 

In the matter of social etiquette a great advance 
had been made. Exquisite silver and gold trenchers 
and salvers were used, and knives and forks of very 
elaborate description. One of these which I saw, 
used by royal fingers, had such heavy carving on the 
handle I wonder how it ever could have been used. 
In the main hall, the dining-table was spread for ban- 
quets, but frequently smaller rooms were used for 



For Young Readers. 



59 



meals in private ; and domestic life ^Yas far more so- 
ciable and comfortable than when Chaucer's pilgrims 
ate in such rude fashion at the Tabard Inn. With all 
these comforts, the utmost extravagance and display 
had come in. Fancy this very hall of which I speak. 
The queen was entertained by such splendors and 
merry-making, that to read of them now we think they 





Lady of rank and countrywoman of queen ei^izabeth's time. 

could hardly have existed out of fairyland. The 
greatest poets in the land composed verses and plays 
and allegories for the occasion. Hundreds of people 
were engaged to perform the various parts ; and all 
the park was transformed into a kind of enchanted 
country. If there was a lake, you might see nymphs 
and fairies about it who, when the queen approached, 



6o The Story of English Literature 

recited verses in her honor, sang carols, or laid gar- 
lands at her feet Through the woods strange charac- 
ters roamed, dressed in every imaginable costume. 
They had all something to do for the queen's entertain- 
ment — at one side a mimic battle ; at another a kind 
of allegory, performed in pantomime, while some per- 
son stood by to explain its meaning ; on the lawns, 
dancers, musicians, minstrels appeared, jugglers and 
gymnasts, while the richest cloths were spread about 
for the queen and her ladies to walk upon. When 
night came, the whole place would be illuminated ; 
within, suppers and dancing, without, some sort of 
revel kept up ; all day long the gates were being 
opened to fresh arrivals, some new performer, 
some distinguished guest ; at night one set of people 
was kept up preparing for the next day's display. 
And what kind of ladies and gentlemen were they in 
the court t They certainly make a great part of the 
picture. No description I could give would present 
an idea of the magnificence of their costumes. The 
queen's wardrobe contained over three thousand 
dresses. These were of silks and satins and velvets 
of every imaginable hue, made with quilted skirts, 
long, pointed waists, and a high ruff in the neck. Of 
course her ladies dressed in keeping ; and the gentle- 
men of the court were so fine about their dress, with 



For Young Readers. 



6i 



their satin cloaks, jeweled vests, and puffed sleeves, 
their silk hose and buckled shoes, that many writers 
made sport of them. Fancy all this fine assemblage 

at Whitehall in London, 
or at some earl's country- 
seat. The queen, glitter- 
ing all over with gems, 
and dressed in rustling 
green satin, walks about, 
followed by courtiers 
ready to bow down and 
do her homage. They 
make merry, they laugh, 
and jest, and flatter, be- 
cause the queen likes it ; 
while, far off, out of hear- 
ing, in the Tower, death- 
warrants are so often 

Gentleman of Elizabeth's time, being given OUt. One of 

the prisoners of that day said he wondered why any 
one cared to live ; to him there was only sadness in 
that rich, merry-making England. 

Orcourse, with all this, had come a great increase 
of learning. 

The ladies of the queen's court were very clever. 
They knew Latin and Greek and French, and some 




62 The Story of English Literature 

science, and they read a great deal of poetry. The 
principal reason for this was that printing had been 
introduced into England by one William Caxton about 
i48o. The first books were printed on thin, yellowish 
paper, and Caxton wrote many of them himself ; but 
among the first was an edition of the Canterbury Tales. 
He had to work hard enough, and sometimes he made 
mistakes. For instance, when his first edition of Chau- 
cer appeared, a gentleman called upon him and said 
it was not like the MS. copy his father had ; and so 
poor Caxton borrowed the correct version and had to 
begin all over again. But now writers sprang up on 
every side. In the reign of Henry VIII. the Earl of 
Surrey and Sir Thomas More were famous. I wish 
that in this space I could tell their story. They both 
met the same sad fate at the Tower, and England 
waited long before such a Christian gentleman, such a 
scholar, such a man, as Sir Thomas More was known 
again. One little incident will show you what he was. 
While he was in the Tower his wife came and begged 
of him to do all the king required, and come back to 
court, nearer to royal favor and enjoyment. 

"Dear Alice," More answered," I am as near my 
God and Heaven in this dungeon as at court, so I will 
bide here." 

Schools and colleges were flourishing ; literature be- 



For Young Readers. 



63 



came fashionable ; and at court learning was greatly- 
encouraged. But the style of the day was extravagant. 
How could it be otherwise when, on all sides, display, 
flattery, fine speeches, pretty airs and graces, were so 
much admired ? There was a writer named John Lyly 
or Lillie, whose works were much sought after ; his 
style was very high-flown and what we, today, would 
call stilted. He wrote a book called " Euphues,"from 
which we take the word "Euphuism," and this was 
full of phrases in his pecu- 
liar, grandiose manner. 

Lyly's books became all the 
fashion ; and a writer who 
edited his works after his 
death says "All our ladies 
were then his schollers, and 
that Beautie in court who 

Elizabethan Ruff. COuld nOt parley Euphucisms 

was as Httle regarded as shee which now there speaks 
not french." 

In London a man called Ponsonby kept a book-shop 
in the Strand. It was a queer little place. The streets 
were often narrow then, even in London ; the shops 
low, and the first story projected over the entrance j 
the roofs were peaked, the windows, whether jutting 
out or bow-shaped, had small panes of glass. 




64 The Story of English Literature 

Ponsonby was a great publisher in his day. Many 
writers brought him their works, and if you had gone 
into his shop you would have found the writings of 
a whole band of poets j but of these let us consider 
first three — all friends, all well-known today : Sir Phil- 
ip Sidney, Walter Raleigh, and last, but greatest poet, 
Edmund Spenser. 

I hardly know what to tell you first of Sir Philip 
Sidney. He was the idol of the nation in Elizabeth's 
day. Everybody loved him, everybody respected 
him — a brave, generous, frank-hearted gentleman, 
who had much more to recommend him to our notice to- 
day than his fine dress and noble, manly, young face. 
No flattery seemed to touch his sweet, frank nature. 
No prosperity made him forget the sufferings of others. 
His home was at Penshurst, or Milton, where he lived 
with his beautiful sister Mary, the Countess of Pem- 
broke ; but he was much in London, where all the 
court worshipped him. Down at Penshurst, however, 
Sir Philip wrote his famous book," The Arcadia," for 
the special entertainment of his beloved sister. I 
hardly think you would find it interesting reading to- 
day except for the sake of Sir Philip. The style was too 
much according to the fashion of the times ; but the 
idea Sir Philip had in writing it was very beautiful. 

You see the honest, true-hearted gentleman, tired of 



For Young Readers, 65 

the shows and stately frivolities of court life. The in- 
sincerity wearied him. When he turned his back upon 
it all, and found himself in his peaceful country home, 
there came to him some thought of a place which a 
man might find on God's wide, fair earth, where only 
goodness and happiness were known ; and so he wrote 
"Arcadia." It describes an Island where all the laws 
were just, and all the people happy. Today, when we 
speak of any very happy, beautiful life, we say it is 
"Arcadian" Sir Philip Sidney's life was very won- 
derful in those days. There never was a shadow upon 
it. He befriended every one who needed his help ; 
he loved his friends devotedly. When at last he left 
England to join the army in Holland, every one 
grieved bitterly. How much more so, when, in the 
very flower of his youth, in 1586, at the age of thirty- 
two, he died, wounded fatally in battle. The last act 
of his life was a generous one. Lying on the field, 
wounded mortally, and suffering from a feverish thirst, 
he was given a cup of water; but, at that moment, he 
heard a poor, dying soldier begging faintly for drink. 
"Give it to him," Sidney whispered, "he needs it 
more than I." 

I am sure Sidney would have been a great poet had 
he lived longer. Here is one of his verses ; 



66 TJie Story of English Literature 

*' Come sleep, oh sleep, the certain knot of peace, 
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe. 
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, 
The indifferent judge between the high and low. 
With shield of proof shield me from out the prease 
Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw ; 

make in me those civil wars to cease ; 

1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. " 

Among Sidney's friends was Sir Walter Raleigh. 
You know his history as a brave adventurer, but he was 
also one of the poets and prose writers of his day. 
What a contrast he makes to Sidney ! No less a gen- 
tleman in one way, but a gay, bold-hearted m.an, not 
knowing fear, ready to laugh at fate. He was born in 
1552, and when very young, went to Oxford College. 
Soon after, he became distinguished at court. You 
know how he laid down his cloak for Elizabeth to 
walk upon. This was very like him, although I have 
no doubt fifty other men in England would have done 
the same. Raleigh used to visit Sir Philip at Pens- 
hurst. The two men were nearly the same age, and 
both wrote and enjoyed each other's writings generous- 
ly; but the time cam.e when, for political reasons, he 
was cast into the Tower. He was released at different 
times. Finally, under James I. in 1618, he was be- 
headed. In the Tower he wrote the Plistory of the 
World ] and we have a collection of his poems, showing 
what a man of genms and imagination he must have 



For Young Readers, 67 

been, certainly not appreciated in those days of tyran- 
ny. He, like Sidney, liked to turn his thoughts from 
the town when he wrote. Here are two verses from 
his " Country Recreations " : 

*' Abused mortal, did you know 

Where joy, heart's-ease, and comfort grow, 

You'd scorn proud towers, 

And seek them in these bowers ; 

Where winds, perhaps, our woods may sometimes shake, 

But blustering care could never tempest make, 

Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, 

Saving of fountains that glide by us. 

Blest, silent groves, O, may ye be 

Forever mirth's best nursery ! 

May pure contents 

Forever pitch their tents 

Upon these downs, these meads, these wells, these mountains 

And peace still slumber by these purling fountains, 

Which we may, every year, 

Find when we come a-fishing here." 

At CambridgeUniversity in England in the year 
1 569, a young man of sixteen, from London, was entered 
as a " sizar," or one of the humblest class of students. 
He was poor, and obliged, as all sizars were, to work 
his way \ but it was not long before he became very 
popular. Gabriel Harvey, a distinguished scholar, 
noticed him, and took him into his intimate friend- 
ship. The young sizar began to make verses, and 
showed so much ability that all Cambridge learned 



68 The Story of English Literature 

to know his name. It is now famous all the world 
over, for this was Edmund Spenser, the author of 
the ^^ Faery QueenP From college Spenser went 
to visit some country relations, but Harvey sent a 
note begging liim to come down to London. He 
was ready enough to return to his native place, and 
while there Harvey introduced him to Sir Philip Sidney. 
From the very first hour of their meeting, the two men 
were sworn friends. Spenser visited Sidney and his 
lovely sister at Penshurst. Like Sidney, he wrote 
best when he turned away from town life and one of 
his earliest works, "The Shepherd's Calendar," is a 
rural, or country poem dedicated to his dear Sidney. 
I can easily picture the friends enjoying the lovely 
English country life together \ perhaps Raleigh some- 
times joined them. In those days literature was young 
enough to make authors cling to each other. They 
discussed poetry and the various styles of versifying. 
Sidney and Spenser had some idea of doing away with 
all rhymes in poetry, but they fortunately gave it up. 

At Penshurst Sidney and his guests led a very pleas- 
ant life. In those days the country gentlemen rode 
out, went hawking, fishing and shooting. We can 
easily picture Spenser and Sidney riding out of the 
gates on a fine summer morning. A page stands by 
in a fantastic dress of red and blue, his long plumed 



Edmund Spenser. 



For Young Readers. *ji 

hat in his hand. Spenser's dr'ess is soberer, grayer than 
Sidney's ; the latter is like a beautiful picture in his 
rich velvets and embroideries, Picture him bending 
a moment to speak to the page ; the sweet, thoughtful 
friend waiting near by ; all the rich English country 
with its many tints of green, its pretty blossoms, 
its ripe, clustering hedge-rows, about them. A mo- 
ment more and they gallop out of the court-yard, down 
a lane, where all the fragrances of summer time reach 
them. Can you fancy them coming home, later in the 
da}^ to the evening meal in the castle hall, where the 
beautiful Lady Pembroke joined them, where they dis- 
cussed all the topics both men loved ? I do not wonder 
Spenser's recollections of Penshurst Castle were so 
sweet and tender that, when Sidney was dead, his 
very verses seemed to weep. 

Later, Spenser went to Ireland as secretary of Lord 
Grey, the Lord Deputy; and in 1586, when he was 
thirty-four, he received a grant of some lands which 
the queen had taken from an Irish gentleman. He 
took up his abode here, at Kilcolman Castle, near 
Doneraile, of which only ruins can be seen today. 
While there, he began his great work, The Faery Queen. 
I told you how the taste of the day was for everything 
fanciful, allegorical, and extravagant. Naturally, 
Spenser fell into this popular style. When he planned 



72 The Story of English Literature 

his poem, he thought of knights and ladies, fairies and 
enchanters, allegorical personages, lions spell-bound, 
and endowed with reasoning powers, monsters, ser- 
pents, wicked nymphs and dryads, for his charac- 
ters ; but he mingled them in some confusion, and 
while we can but be fascinated by his beautiful verse, 
the design is a little wearisome. You must, however, 
in reading " The Faery Queen," forget the story. 
Take up one or two of the beautiful characters — the 
sweet Lady Una, Belph^be, or Britomart, — and see 
how wonderfully he describes them. We have to ad- 
mire him, I think, newly on every page. There is such 
a flow of beautiful, harmonious words, the thoughts 
and ideas are so fine, and the occasional coarseness 
is due to the time in which he lived, when people in 
the very best society and of t'he highest education 
frequently used the coarsest terms in speech or com- 
position. 

Spenser had written the first three books of. the 
" Faery Queen " when Raleigh came to visit him. Spen- 
ser rather timidly told Raleigh of his work, and while 
they sat upon the lawn of Kilcolman, he read him 
aloud so much as he had written. Raleigh was per- 
fectly delighted. In his headlong, impetuous fashion, 
he hurried back to London, and made his way to the 
queen. At that time he was in high favor. Can't 



For Young Readers. 73 

you imagine him, full of generous zeal for his friend, 
hastening into the queen's presence, so ready to 
burst forth on some subject that Elizabeth quickly 
enough asked him what news he brought? 

O, he had found a poet — such a poet — Master 
Edmund Spenser, who was already known somewhat 
in the young literary world, but he was doing new 
wonders : he ought to come to London ! Her Majes- 
ty's court was the place for such a genius ! So Ra- 
leigh held forth for some time. The result was that 
Spenser was summoned to London, and there he found 
his way down to old Ponsonby's shop. The publish- 
er gladly undertook to have the three books of the 
"Faery Queen " printed. Only yesterday I was looking 
at the first edition brought out by Ponsonby, while 
Spenser was making one of the queen's courtiers. It 
is very well printed, on the thin paper of the day ; the 
title-page is ornamented most elaborately. A fine 
copy was bound to present to the queen, whom Spen- 
ser had called "Gloriana " in his poem. She received 
it very graciously, and promised the poet fifty pounds, 
but her treasurer, thinking it too much, delayed the 
payment ; and Spenser wrote a few satirical lines, 
whereupon the money was instantly paid to him. 

Ponsonby's shop, down in " Flete Street," at 'the 
"Sign of the Hand and Starre," was well patronized 



74 The Story of English Literature 

by purchasers of Spenser's new poem. The poet him- 
self returned to Ireland and married, happily, it is be- 
lieved, though of his wife Elizabeth we know little. He 
wrote the " Epithalamium " in honor of his marriage ; 
and it is one of the most exquisite works of his rare 
genius. He also wrote more upon the Faery Queen, 
and " Colin Clout's come home again;"' but in 1599 
misfortune befel him. The Irish peasantry, incensed 
by the persecutions and oppressions they were suffer- 
ing, revolted, and Spenser's home was burned, his in- 
fant child perishing in the flames. He escaped with 
his wife to London, but there poverty and despair 
seemed to weigh him down. Many of his biographers 
think he was in a starving condition when he died, in 
King Street, Westminster, January i6th, 1599. I 
think this hardly likely to be the case ; we know that 
he was very poor ; that he died, grieved and wearied 
at heart. Friends paid his funeral expenses, and he 
lies buried next to Chaucer in Westminster Abbey. 

In the " Faery Queen " Spenser is best known to- 
day. His idea was to represent, in the twelve books 
twelve " moral virtues,"and they can only be properly 
appreciated when the reader fancies himself back in 
Spenser's time ; buying the volume of old Ponsonby j 
living among Elizabeth's gay courtiers ; and, moreover, 
having so few books to read that Spenser's long de- 



For Young Readers. 75 

scription, detailed . pictures, and explanations seem 
in no way wearisome. Every character in the "Fairy 
Queen" had a special meaning; the Knight of the 
Red Cross signifies Holiness ; Una meant Purity. 

Una and the red-cross knight. 

A gentle knight was pricking on the plain, 

Yclad in mighty arms and silver shield, 

Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain, 

The cruel marks of many a bloody field ; 

Yet arms, till that time, did he never wield : 

His angry steed did chide his foaming bit, 

As much disdaining to the curb to yield ; 

Full jolly knight he seemed, and fair did sit, 

As one for knightly jousts and fierce encDunters fit. 

And on his breast a bloody cross he bore, 

The dear remembrance of his dying Lord, 

For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore, 

And dead, as living, ever him adored : 

Upon his shield the like was also scored, 

For sovereign hope, which in his help he had ; 

Right faithful true he was in deed and word. 

But of his cheer did seem too solemn sad : 

Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad. 

Upon a great adventure he was bound, 
That greatest Gloriana to him gave, 
(That greatest, glorious queen of fairy-land) 
To win him worship, and her grace to have, 
Which of all earthly things he most did crave; 
And ever, as he rode, his heart did yearn 
To prove his puissance in battle brave 
Upon his foe, and his new force to learn ; 
Upon his foe, a dragon horrible and stern. 



y6 The Story of English Literature 

A lovely lady rode him fair beside 
Upon a lowly ass more white than snow ; 
Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide 
Under a veil that wimpled was full low, 
And over all a black stole she did throw. 
As one that inly mourned: so was she sad, 
And heavy sat upon her palfrey slow ; 
Seemed in heart some hidden care she had, 
And by her in a line a milk-white lamb she led. 

I have told you the stories of these three jDoets, 
Spenser, Raleigh, and Sidney; but a whole band of 
other names should be included among the poets who 
belong to Elizabeth's era. Spenser assuredly is first ; 
Ben Jonson and some few others we shall come to, 
among the great dra7natists of the day. Southwell 
would, undoubtedly, have been one of the greatest 
poets of the sixteenth century but for his cruel captiv- 
ity in the Tower. He was a Roman Catholic priest, 
and as such arrested, flung into prison, tortured on 
the rack, and finally beheaded. 

With such a life, how could he write of '' Merry 
England ? " His verses on death and on immortality 
are very beautiful. While Spenser and Sidney show us 
the gay, theatrical, or sentimental life of the day, po- 
ets like Robert Southwell show us the darker side of 
life under the Tudors. 

Beside these names, come others. The fair sister 



For Youftg Readers. *i*i 

of Sidney, upon whose tomb Ben Jonson wrote the 
following famous lines : 

" Underneath this sable hearse, 
Lies the subject of all verse, 
Sidney's sister ! Pembroke's mother ! 
Death, ere thou hast slain another, 
Fair, and learned, and good as she. 
Time shall throw his dart at thee ! " 



The two brothers Fletcher, Giles and Phineas, both 
clergymen and poets of a high type, Wotton, Fair- 
fax, Overbury, Drummond, all these names, with many 
others, belong to the band of singers, or " makers of 
verses," who have given Queen Elizabeth's reign part 
of its literary glory. Drummond was a Scotch gen- 
tleman, of whom, in the next chapter, there will be 
something to say. He lived at Hawthornden, a beau- 
tiful place in Scotland, and wrote his poems chiefly 
out of doors, sitting on an old bench directly in front 
of the cave Robert the Bruce once used as a hiding- 
place. Drummond died in 1649, at the age of fifty. 

In the next chapter the king of all poetry, the first, 
the greatest genius the world has ever known, shall 
be presented to you. His v^ery name makes one feel 
like standing still for some gesture of reverence and 
homage. Do you not know it well? 

William Shakspeare. 



78 The Story of English Literature 



Edmund Spenser. 1553 — 1599. 

List of Spenser's Works. 
The Faery Queen. 

Epithalamium. 

The Ruins of Time. 

Visions, and the Fate of the Butterfly. 
Daphnaida. 
Colin Clout's Come Home Again. 
Amorati, or Sonnets. 

Prothalamion. 
Thymus. 

The Shepherd's Calendar. 

Sir Philip Sidney. 1554 — 1586. "The Arcadia ;"" The 
Defence of Poesie ; " " Sonnets." 

Sir Walter Raleigh. 1552 — 1618. Works :" The His- 
tory of the World " ( prose ) ; ** The Country Recreations ; " 
♦ Philidas' Love Call ; " "'The Silent Lover ; " " The Shepherd's 
Description of Love." 

Gabriel Harvey. 1545 — 1630. Works: "Letters and 
Sonnets." 

Fulke Greville ( Lord Brooke ) ; 1564 — 1628. Works: 
Prose and Verse. Several didactic poems ; *' A Treatise of Hu- 
man Learning ; " "A Treatise of Monarchy ; " ''A Treatise of 
Religion ; " "An Inquisition upon Fame and Honor." Two trag- 
edies, " Alaham," and " Mustapha." " Life of Sidney." 

Thomas Sackville ( Earl of Dorset and Lord High Treas- 



For Young Readers. 79 

urer of England). 1536 — 1608. Works: "The Mirror for 
Magistrates " ( with Baldwin and Ferrers ) . 

George Ferrers. 1512 — 1599- Wrote six chronicles in 
verse for " The Mirror for Magistrates." 

William Baldwin. "A Treatise on Moral Philosophy;" 
" The Canticles or Ballads of Solomon; " " The Use of Adages, 
Similes and Proverbs ; " " Beware the Cat." 

William Warner. 1558 — 1609. Works : " Albion's Eng- 
land, " a narrative poem. 

Robert Southwell. 1590 — 1695. Poems ; " St. Peter's 
Complaint ; " " Mary Magdalene's Tears." 

Samuel Daniel. 1562 — 1619. Works : " The Queen's Ar- 
cadia ; " " The Tragedy of Cleopatra." " The Tragedy of Philo- 
tes; " " Hymen's Triumph ; " " Twelve Goddesses ; " " Musoph- 
ilus ; " Numerous Sonnets. (Prose): " History of England," 
and " History of Civil Wars." 

Michael Drayton. 1563 — 1631. Works : " Poly-albion : " 
(Antiquities of Britain in verse) ; " "The Barons' Wars;" 
" England's Heroical Epistles ; " "The Shepherd's Garland;" 
etc., etc. 

Sir Thomas Oyerbur}-. 15S1 — 1613. A noted wit, and 
author of two didactic poems : " The Wife," and " The Choice of 
a Wife." Wrote in prose. 

Sir Henry Wotton 1568 1639. — Works : " The State of 
Christendom ; " " Elements of Architecture ; " etc. etc. 

(Barnes and Eamfield wrote various madrigals, sonnets, odes, 
etc. Joshua Sylvester wrote poems and. sonnets of medium 
value. Translated from the French of Du Bartas. William 
Browne : wrote pastorals. Samuel Rowlands, various poems.) 

Giles and Phineas Fletcher. 158S — 1623, 1584 — 
1650. Giles' chief poem, " Christ's Victory and Triumph in 
Heaven and Earth over and after Death. Phineas' chief works 

The Locusts or Appollyonists." " The Purple Island." 

George Herbert. 1593 — 1632. Works : " The Temple," 

A Priest to the Temple." 



8o The Story of English Literature 

William DRUMMOND of Hawthornden. 1625 — 1649. Works 
best known : " The River of Forth Feasting." ** The Praise of 
a Solitary Life." 

William Alexander, Earl of Stirling. L580 — 1640. Va- 
rious tragedies and poems. 



For Young Readers. 8i 



III. 

THE EARLY DRAMA AND DRAMATISTS. 



Inn-Yard Theatres — The First Tragedy — The First Theatre 
— Kit Marlowe — At Blackfriars. 



I HAVE concluded that before stepping with you 
into the days of Shakespeare it is needful to tell 
you somewhat of the various theatrical performances, 
the religious plays and mysteries, of some of which, 
notably those pageants in honor of Queen Elizabeth, 
I spoke in the last chapter, and which in reality paved 
the way for those great dramatic works of the reign, 
which to this day, are performed with little or no al- 
teration. 

Before the invention of printing, few people among 
the lower classes could read ; and therefore when, in 
a little tQwn, it was announced that a representation 



82 The Story of English Literature 

of certain parts of scripture history would be given, 
you can imagine how eagerly the people flocked to 
see it. These representations were known by different 
names — "mysteries,'' "miracle plays," "morali- 
ties," etc., — and frequently clergymen themselves 
took part. Sometimes a herald or crier would go 
through the town giving notice when and where and 
how the performance was to take place ; if it rained, 
they waited till the next fine day, for the play was 
usually given in the open air, a sort of platform be- 
ing erected for the players, who were frequently 
obliged, on coming before the audience, to explain 
who they were ; for, of course, at that early day, there 
could be no theatrical scenery, or what are now 
known as " stage accessories " to help them. 

Although it may seem, now, that an audience must 
have been rather dull if it could be amused by such 
performances, the spectators in those times were in 
reality very quick-witted, and the fact of so much be- 
ing left to the imagination may have sharpened their 
minds. 

Fancy yourself sitting on one of those rough 
benches in a village street crowded with people of 
Henry the Seventh's day. All eyes are eagerly 
strained towards the little platform : the figure of an 
old man appears j there is so little in his dress or man- 



For Yoimg Readers. 83 

ner to indicate who he is, that either he himself, or 
the person stationed just below for tha4: purpose, has 
to announce that he is " Moses " or " Pharao " or 
" Herod " as the case may be. He goes through 
certain performances, the other characters joining in 
as they are needed to tell his story. Meanwhile the 
spectator has to use all his mind to rouse his imag- 
ination and fill up the picture. 

Certain wooden figures were always kept by the 
performers in these " mysteries," as well as in the 
pageants, and played an important part in the Spec- 
tacle. It took very little to produce an effect upon 
these willing audiences ; for example, a huge wooden 
monster with an enormous mouth signified " hell ; " 
and a favorite character in these early performances, 
whether play or pageant, was " the devil," who was 
often represented piling up fire in the mouth of the 
monster; and I iiave just been looking at a curious 
old account-book w^hich records the expenses of a 
certain pageant ; and among other items, " twelve 
shillings paid to the devil for keeping up hell- 
fyre." 

Angels with golden wings were favorite characters, 
and it is surprising how ingenious some of the de- 
vices were. On one occasion, when Anne of Bohe- 
mia rode through the city of London, one of the an- 



84 The Story of English Literature 

gels appeared to fly down from a neighboring wall, 
and present the young queen with a cup of wine. 
Cheapside in London was a famous scene for these 
pageants, and no expense was spared in their prepar- 
ation by the merchants and rich citizens wlio lived in 
that street. Not only were scripture subjects popular, 
but the heroes and heroines of mythology played a 
conspicuous part. When Anne Boleyn rode in triumph 
through London, a great pageant was given in her 
honor, and the principal characters were Venus, Pal- 
las, and Juno, who presented the queen with a golden 
apple, divided into three parts to signify Wisdom, 
Riches, and Felicity. 

Although the people had been accustomed to shows 
and pageants of this kind since a very early date, it 
had not occurred to any writer to compose a play 
more like real life, until the middle of the Sixteenth 
century ; but, as I told you in the last chapter, what- 
ever was fanciful and unreal seemed to please the 
people better, and you can understand how, with no 
regular theatre for their performances, the scriptural 
and mythological subjects were more easily acted and 
more entertaining than real life. 

However, a comedy was finally written by one 
Nicolas Udall, master of Westminster School, in 1551. 
The name of this play was Ralph Royster Doyster^ 



For Young Readers. 85 

and I fear you would find it very stupid if it were per- 
formed to-day. The characters were all taken from 
low life, and, as its title suggests, the humor was of 
the most boisterous description. 

Meanwhile, Queen Elizabeth had come to the 
throne. You know how fond she was of all manner 
of shows and representations, so you can understand 
how readily she encouraged the new plays and play- 
ers. Her taste was followed by the court ; and not 
only had all the leading noblemen a troupe of players 
for their own amusement and the queen's diversion, 
but numerous strolling companies were formed, for 
whom dialogues, or " Interludes," w^ere written. 
These were usually intended to illustrate some special 
vice or virtue, and pointed a very strong moral. 

The inn-yards, both in London and the country, 
were the usual places for these performances, being 
well adapted for the purpose ; for the double rows of 
galleries of the inn formed on three sides a sort of 
balcony for the more exclusive spectators, \vhile the 
humbler classes occupied rough benches in the paved 
court below, at one end of which a rude platform was 
erected, curtains were hung about it, and all was ready 
for the play with little trouble or expense. 

Young boys follow^ed the players and joined their 
companies to perform the female parts in the drama, 



86 The Story of English Literature 

for no women appeared upon the stage in England 
until a century later. 

The students at various colleges and schools, and 
in the Temple and Inns of Court, all had their dif- 
ferent performances at Christmas, Michaelmas, Lady 
Day, etc. ; and with them originated those curious 
characters called "Lords and Ladies of Misrule," 
whose merry doings are even now sometimes enjoyed 
in England. 

An amusing story is told of one of their wild per- 
formances. One New Year's Eve a party of students, 
headed by one whom they had chosen as Lord of 
Misrule, went down Fleet Street at midnight, knock- 
ing violently at every door. The honest citizens, who 
were asleep, awoke in great fright, and when the law- 
less summons was answered, the Lord of Misrule 
and his followers demanded five shillings before they 
would leave the door. This was usually given by 
the terrified inhabitants, who knew not what to make 
of the crowd of gayly-dressed, bespangled and 
masked revelers. Proceeding in this way from house 
to house, screaming and singing and blowing upon 
trumpets, they became at last so riotous that the 
Lorl Mayor and some of his guard were called out. 
The Lord of Misrule, with his finery in tatters and 
plumes draggled, was led off to prison, whence 



m^ 



■m)l^:,i*?i; 



■lii'i 



^i^i ^^^^-i^. 






1 






For Young Readers. 89 

however, he was released next day. Many wild per- 
formances were permitted without punishment, so 
that even the pubHc streets were hardly safe after 
night-fall on public holidays. 

On every general holiday some public pageant, or 
performances, had to be given or the people were dis- 
satisfied ; and even the common duties and ceremo- 
nies of the day were conducted in a theatrical man- 
ner. To this day traces of the same custom can be 
found at all public banquets in England, and many 
of the ceremonials we are familiar with, began, no 
doubt, with " Her Majesty's children," as several of 
Queen Ehzabeth's players were called. 

In 1 56 1 the first tragedy knov/n in the English 
language was performed at Whitehall, a palace in 
London. Queen Elizabeth witnessed it and was 
highly pleased. The name of the play was " 7^^/-/-^?^ 
a7id Forrex,'' and the author was Thomas Sackville, 
afterwards Lord Buckhurst. The players were mem- 
bers of the Inner Temple, and they were not at all 
disheartened by the number of murders, tragic en- 
counters^ etc., which crowded every scene. 

We hear little more of tragedies being performed, 
during the next five years, but, in 1566, Queen Eliza- 
beth visited Eton to witness the performance by the 
schoolboys, of a play called Damon and Fythias^ by 
Richard Edwards. 



90 The Story of English Literature 

During the reign of Henry VIII. a '' Master of the 
Revels " had been appointed, whose duty it was to in- 
spect all public performances, and the greatest care 
was taken to prevent anything being said to the 
people, even in a play, which could excite them to 
dislike of the king or the government, or possibly to 
rouse them to revolt ; consequently, in these early 
plays and interludes we find only the most fulsome 
flattery of the sovereign and royal family. The 
Master of the Revels gave the players their licenses, 
and to this day the Lord Chamberlain of England 
holds the same duty j no play can be performed in 
public without his sanction. But, happily, times are 
changed, so that writers in the Nineteenth century 
need not direct all their fine speeches and brilliant 
ideas towards the throne. 

About the middle of Queen Elizabeth's reign the 
first theatre was erected, at Blackfriars, in the neigh- 
borhood of an old monastery from which it took its 
name. 

Blackfriars was one of the most crowded quarters 
of London, which differed then in many respects from 
the London of to-day. The houses of the rich were 
frequently found side by side with shops and inns ; 
coaches were first introduced during Elizabeth's 
reign, before which well-to-do people used to ride on 



For Young Eeaders. 91 

horseback, and the poorer classes always went on 
foot, so there was no need of wide thoroughfares, and 
the streets in that neighborhood are to-day so narrow 
that vehicles can hardly pass through them. 

The theatre at Blackfriars created general interest, 
and was at once patronized by all classes ; the inte- 
rior arrangements were such, however, that, in order 
to draw a large audience, the drama must have offered 
extraordinary attractions. 

The cheaper seats were at first not covered by a 
roof, so that the people who sat in them were some- 
times drenched with rain while witnessing a perform- 
ance. The fine gendemen of the court and the rich 
tradespeople were given seats upon the stage, or 
rushes and mats to lounge upon. 

We infer from this that the sides of the stage must 
have projected farther than they do to-day. Benches 
were provided there on payment of an extra shilling. 
The principal object of this early theatre seems to 
have been to provide some permanent place for the 
performances, which both players and people loved 
enthusiastically ; and small consideration was paid to 
the comfort either of audience or actors. 

A writer of the day speaks of the " windy, draughty 
stage,"' and the inconvenient arrangements behind the 
scenes. The green-room seems to have been a place 



92 The Story of English Literature 

where the public had as much right to enter as the 
players themselves, and the latter complained bitterly 
of this. Fine gentlemen would crowd the room, 
quarrelling often with the actors, for whom they pro- 
fessed at times a great contempt, though in some cases 
a player was known to be the intimate friend of a 
great nobleman. 

Nearly all those who now began to write comedies, 
tragedies, interludes, etc. for the stage, became actors 
themselves, and lived free, rollicking lives among the 
people. Of these early dramatists two, Christopher 
Marlowe, commonly called " Kit," and Robert Greene, 
are best known to-day. Many others wrote at the 
same time, but Marlowe and Greene seem to have 
been the leading figures, until Shakespeare and his 
friend Ben Jonson appeared. 

Marlowe was born in 1562 ; his father was a shoe- 
maker in the pleasant little town of Canterbury. The 
boy passed his early years playing and fighting with 
boys of his own class. Whenever and wherever he 
could hear of a " show " or dramatic performance of 
whatever kind, he contrived to witness it, and we can 
picture him, one of the eager, boisterous spectators of 
the inn-yard plays. 

After witnessing one of these crude performances, 
he would go home with his young head full of the 



For Youno Readers. 93 

stilted, stiif sentences of the players, their exaggera- 
tions and their grotesque antics. 

Naturally enough, Marlowe, who had a genius for 
the stage, knew something better might be done ; but 
for some time he had not even the rudiments of edu- 
cation. Some rich gentleman, it is supposed, discov- 
ered signs of genius in the shoemaker's son, for, later, 
he was entered at the Cambridge University, and 
there distinguished himself for his learning. His 
rough, coarse instincts, however, never left him. 
Marlowe became a learned scholar, but he never ac- 
quired the ways of an honest man, nor the polish of a 
gentleman. When he left college and went up to 
London he might have taken a leading place at the 
queen's court, where learning was so highly encour- 
aged ; but Marlowe preferred the rough company to 
be found at the inns and taverns of the day, and was 
soon a well-known lounger in the lower part of the 
cuy. While at college, he had written a play called 
^'' Tamhurlaine the (7r^^/," which was brought out in 
London. Although a great deal of his natural 
coarseness, as well as the spirit of the times, is shown 
in this play, both the thought and language occasion- 
ally prove what true genius poor " Kit Marlowe " 
possessed, and make us regret that he could so de- 
grade the talent God had given him for better uses. 



94 The Story of English Literature 

He was a scoffer at all religion, yet he certainly seems 
to have understood what it was in others. In one of 
the plays, written soon after his arrival in London, 
^^ Doctor Fatistus,'^ he introduces the character already 
well-known in German literature, Mephistopheles, who 
was intended to represent the Devil. Faustus asks 
him whether he suffers and why he is not in hell, 
and Mephistopheles answers ; 

" Why, this is Hell, nor am I out of it ; 
Thinkest thou that I, that saw the face of God, 
And tasted th' eternal joys of Heaven, — 
Am not tormented with ten thousand Hells, 
In being deprived of everlasting Bliss ?" 

Marlowe's life continued to be spent in acting, in 
lounging about London, in drunken brawls, and in 
writing the finest plays of the time. Besides those 
mentioned, he wrote various others, all highly com- 
mended in his day, and performed with great suc- 
cess. 

Going from bad to worse, Marlowe at length met his 
death in a disgraceful way. For some nights the tav- 
ern which he frequented had been the scene of 
his quarrels with many of his reckless comrades. 
Going there again in a half -intoxicated condition, it 
took little to provoke him into a quarrel. There was 



Fo7- Young Readers. 95 

neither fear of God or man in his heart. He had 
thrown away all the great advantages of his life, and 
had few friends to care to what desperate end he 
brought his miserable career. There was no one 
present on this final night to do more than cry out in . 
horror when Marlowe's opponent drew a knife and 
stabbed him to the heart. He might have been re- 
spected and beloved by the nation, but he died 
regretted only by those players and audiences for 
whom he had written. 

Meantime Robert Greene, who was two years 
younger than Marlowe, had become a noted dram- 
atist, and was, I regret to say, leading a life no 
better than that of his friend. Greene had also been 
a student at Cambridge, after leavmg which, he, 
too, hastened to London, the great centre of literary 
work. His life was even sadder than Marlowe's, for 
in the midst of his wickedness he would have terrible 
fits of remorse, and was constantly accusing himself of 
his sins. He deserted a lovely wife and children giving 
himself up to gambling and every sort of dissipation. 
He died in a wretched garret where a poor couple 
had, out of charity, given him a pallet of straw. From 
this place, just before his death, he wrote his wife, be- 
seeching of her to pay his funeral expenses, as he had 
not a shilling to leave behind him. Is it not a very 



96 The Story of English Literature 

sad picture, and could you expect from a man who 
was constantly perverting his own nature, defying God 
and man, dramas that were pure and refined? His 
pla3^s, wall written as were many portions, and showing 
the greatest signs of genius, were coarse even for that 
free, bold day. Their subjects were generally histori- 
cal, and the character-drawing is very fine. 

Besides these plays, Greene wrote various pamph- 
lets, or as they were called, tracts ; in one of which, " A 
groat's worth of wit bought with a million of repent- 
ance," he addressed a warning to his companions : 

" But now return I to you then, (Marlowe, Lodge, 
and Peel) knowing my misery is to you no news; 
and let me heartily entreat you to be warned by my 
harms. Delight not, as I have done, in irreligious 
oaths ; despise drunkenness Remem- 
ber, Robert Greene perishes for want of comforts. 
Remember, gentlemen, your lives are like so many 
lighted tapers, that are with care delivered to all of you 
to maintain. These with wine-puffed breaths may be 
extinguished, with drunkenness put out, with negli- 
gence let fall. The fire of my light is now at the last 
snuff. My hand is tired, and I am forced to leave 
where I would begin, desirous that you should live 
though he himself be dying." 

The little theatre at Blackfriars was well estab- 



For Young Readers. 97 

lished ; good actors were now to be found there, and 
in a long, narrow street called " Holywell," which 
exists to-day with little alteration, the players congre- 
gated. Walking through it now, you can see many of 
the tall, bow-windowed houses, the second story 
frame-work bulging out over a little shop-door, in 
which many of the actors and dramatists of Elizabeth's 
reign doubtless once lived. Great signs used to hang 
out of the wdndows then, and would flap in the wind 
while horsemen, riding by in their plumed caps, com- 
plained of them in vain. These signs indicated the 
life in-doors — a tavern, a lodging-house, a stable-yard, 
a shop, — all these were painted in gay colors on the 
boards. Near was an old church where the actors 
were married and buried, while their children were 
carried there to be christened by favorite stage names. 
Among the best known players of the day were the 
Burbages — father and sons. They managed the the- 
atre, encouraged dramatists, and performed leading- 
parts, though they did not write, themselves. They 
seem to have been above the ordinary class of play- 
ers. A picture exists of James Burbage ; the face is 
honest and manly, with a frank smile, and a great 
deal of refinement in the expression. The dress is 
the velvet costume seen now in all the plays of the 
Sixteenth century — silk hose and doublet; sleeves 



98 The Story of English Literature 

slashed with satin ; a chain, with ornaments around 
the deep collar. Burbage had friends at court. 
Many of the clever young noblemen of the day found 
the players very good company — Peele, Lodge, Gas- 
coigne, were all writing at the time; but in spite 
of the success of the theatre, the Lord Mayor and an 
influential class of religious citizens tried to suppress 
both theatres and players. To this, however, the 
people would not submit, and encouraged the drama 
in every way but the best — that is, by seeking to re- 
fine it. Notwithstanding all we hear of the " winds 
and draughts " at Blackfriars, the theatre must have 
had something very fine about it. A preacher at old 
St. Paul's spoke of it as the " gorgeous playing place." 
This would hardly have been said in a day of such 
magnificence at court, without some reason, and here 
and there we come across old accounts where certain 
expenses are put down, showing how much money 
was spent upon the performances. The costumes of 
Blackfriars are reported to have been worth five hun- 
dred pounds, ($ 2500) and you must bear in mind 
that in 1578 that sum of money would buy four or 
five times as much as it could to-day. An old man 
named Henslow kept various records of theatrical mat- 
ters from which we get very precise information, and, 
moreover, they are very entertaining. Henslow 



For Young headers. 99 

loaned the actors money, or advanced it upon their 
plays, bought the MSS. of dramas, paying sums like 
£Z and ;^io for a play ; he kept a theatrical wardrobe 
and seems to have let costumes. 

Finally, he rose to being one of the managers of a 
theatre, and, from all accounts, was a personage 
feared, if not respected, by the gay and reckless play- 
ers of the day. He is one of those persons who, dull 
in themselves, do the greatest service to literature by 
jotting down trifling details of the life going on 
about them, and who, in a few words, conjure up a 
vivid scene in which the great men of the day play a 
part. 

Let us now take a glance at the audience of the 
Blackfriars theatre ^ for you must remember that 
Shakespeare, whose story I have next to tell, drew 
his characters chiefly from the people he saw about 
him. The lords and ladies of the day, who, as I told 
you, sat upon the stage, were the leading figures. 
Learned, affected, sometimes true-hearted as they 
were, ambition governed so many of them, what won- 
der that in plays of the day they were frequently rep- 
resented as worldly, hypocritical and scheming ? 
Fortunately for the times, there were to be found 
many gentle, modest women, and they also influenced 
the dramatists' work. The middle class were well-to 



100 The Story of English Literature 

do j the women of this class dressed gaudily, and 
were rather bold in speech and manner ; the men 
were hardy, uneducated, and fond of all sorts of 
amusements, looking up somewhat to the inn-keepers, 
who were public favorites both in real life and on the 
stage, fond of giving their opinions, and annoyed if 
they were not received with approval. The large 
class of spectators who took the very cheap seats or 
standing-places must have been a curious assemblage ; 
servants, stable-boys, sailors and their like, rough and 
noisy either in applause or condemnation of what was 
going on, not unfrequently fighting during the per- 
formance, or pelting some poor actor with whatever 
missiles came to hand. Sometimes the uproar be- 
came so general that the players were silenced, the 
gallery people rushed down upon the stage, fighting, 
not only among themselves, but with the actors : clubs 
and swords were brought into use, and on more than 
one occasion the city authorities had to be called in 
to quiet the disturbance. Fortunately, such scenes 
were not of every-day occurrence, or the Burbages 
and their friends must have given up in despair \ but 
I speak of them to show what scenes could occur in 
the theatre for which those early dramatists wrote. 
The stage management seems to have been tolerably 
good ; the scenery was, of course, extremely rude, and 



For Yoicng Readers. loi 

the actors depended largely on the indulgence of the 
audience as well as on the merit of the play. In the 
old records of the time we often find amusing allusions 
to the habits of the actors and the theatre, which 
closely resemble those of to-day ; for example, on one 
occasion, when a new piece was produced, great anxi- 
ety was felt in advance as to how it would be re- 
ceived \ the actor who writes of this, says that on the 
opening night he dressed early, in order to station 
himself at a round hole in the drop-curtain, from 
which he could look into the theatre and watch thit. 
arrival of the audience. He had probably written the 
play himself, for he was greatly annoyed by the sarcas- 
ic remarks of a fellow-actor at his back ; fortunately, 
the house was crowded early, and some distinguished 
people honored the play with their presence and ap 
plause. Such simple chronicles bring us very near to 
the people of that day. 

I have told you the story of the theatre of the Six- 
teenth century, so that you may understand better the 
works of William Shakespeare when we come to it. 

The drama was well established by the middle of 
Queen Elizabeth's reign. Poetry and pageant had 
led up to it, as well as the theatrical feeling of the 
people. In 1587 the English public had become ac- 
customed to stage representation, although, with very 



102 The Story of English Literature 

few exceptions, no great genius had been shown in 
them. When any era in literature or composition be- 
gins, you must not expect to find a very perfect system 
in the arrangement of ideas, or skill in expressing 
them. The drama, well established as it was, was still 
new, and, in some ways, disorderly. " Kit" Marlowe, 
miserable, wretched creature though he was, had done 
a great service in introducing blank verse into his plays. 
Hitherto rhyme had always been employed, and this 
frequently has the effect of weakening what is called 
the " situation," as well as the style of a drama. 

In 1587 Marlowe and Greene were still at work; 
the minor writers scribbling away, running to old 
Henslow for their few pounds at a time. 

Meanwhile, in a country village through which the 
Avon runs quietly, seeing nothing on either bank to 
disturb its even, sleepy course, a young man was won- 
dering what path he would pursue in life. Bread he 
must make — a new home he had to seek. He little 
knew, I fancy, that for his sake, one day, all travel- 
ers would lovingly and reverently turn their steps to 
Stratford-upon-Avon, 



For Yotmg Readers. 105 



Dramatists Preceding Shakespeare. 

Christopher Marlowe. 1562 — 1593. Wrote " Tambur- 
laine the Great ; " " Life and Death of Dr Faustus ; " " The 
Massacre at Paris ; " " Edward the Second ; " " The Jew of 
Malta," etc. 

Robert Greene. 1560 — 1592." Friar Bacon and Friar Bun- 
gay; " " History of Orlando ; '* " Alphonsus, King of Arragon; " 
"James IV.," " George-a-Greene the Pinner of Wakefield," 
" The Looking-glass for London and England," etc. and 
tracts : "A Groat's worth of Wit bought with a Million of Re- 
pentance," etc. 

George Peele. 1553 — 1598- "The Arraignment of 
Paris ; " " Edward L ; " " The Old Wives' Tale ; " " Tragedy of 
Absalom;" "The Love of King David and Fair Bethsaba; " 
"The Battle of Alcazar," etc. 

Thomas Lodge. 1556 — 1625. "The Wounds of Civil War ; " 
" Rosalynde " (said to be the prototype of Shakespeare's " As 
You Like if'' ), etc. 

Richard Edwards. 1523 — 1 566. " Damon and Pythias ; " 
"Paradise of Dainty Devices;" "Comedy of Palamon and 
Arcite," etc. 

George Gascoigne. 1537 — 1577. " Princely Pleasures of 
Kenilworth Castle ; " " Comedy of Supposes ; " " Tragedy of 
Jocasta," etc. 

Thomas Nash. 1558 — 1600. "Summer's Last Will and 
Testament ; " " Tragedy of Dido, Queen of Carthage ;" " Sup- 
plication of Pierce Penniless to the Devil ; " " Christ's Tears 
over Jerusalem," etc. 



io6 The Story of English Literature 

John Lyly. 1553 — 1600. The author of " Euphues" wrote 
nine plays performed at court. 

The following were among the earliest predecessors of Shakes- 
peare: Nicolas Udall, "Ralph Royster Doyster," dated 1551. 
Thomas Richards, " Misogonus," 1560. Thomas Sackville, 
Earl of Dorset, " Ferrex and Porrex," 1561. John Still, 
Bishop of Bath, "Gammer Gurton's Needle," 1565. 



For Young Readers, 107 



IV. 

SHAKESPEARE AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES. 

The Birth-place of Shakespeare — Early life — The Country 
town of Queen Elizabeth's Day — Shakespeare as an Actor — 
In London — Ben Jonson. 

GOING through Henley Street in Stratford-on- 
Avon, to-day, you come upon a curious old 
house with the peaked roof, timber-and-plaster walls 
and lattice-work casements which belong to the Six- 
teenth century. A shabby old house it is, yet one 
which every stranger enters with curiosity and delight, 
for here on the twenty-third of April, 1564, William 
Shakespeare was born. 

When Shakespeare w^as a little boy his father held 
the position of high-bailiff, or mayor, of the towm, 
and seems to have been well known and universally re- 



The Story of English Literature io8 

spected. He had married Mary Arden, the daughter 
of Robert Arden, a gentleman of an ancient and hon- 
orable family. Old records in Stratford mention John 
Shakespeare, the poet's father, as " a gentleman of 
good figure and fashion ; " and, although some author- 
ities think that he was either a wool-stapler or a butcher, 
the evidences are very slight. These discussions, 
however, seem of little consequence ; the elder 
Shakespeare probably had various employments, and 
that at different times he was in money trouble, if not 
almost in poverty, we have reason to be very sure. 

William was one of ten children. We fancy he 
must have shown some marks of genius at an early 
age, since he was sent to a grammar school, studied 
Greek and Latin, and seemed to have gained a won- 
derful amount of general information. 

Going through the orderly, peaceful English towns 
to-day, with their air of thrift and matter-of-fact 
comfort, it is not easy to realize what the provincial 
life was in Shakspeare's boyhood. 

Although we know so fe a' of the details of his life, 
his plays give constant evidence that the experiences 
of his early years, the people he saw about him, their 
manners and ways of thinking, furnished him with a 
great deal of his material. 

We know that the love of pageantry and spectacles 



For Young Readers. 109 

reached even so secluded a spot as Stratford. When 
the peasantry held a holiday they indulged in some 
general revel or merry-making, dancing about a 
may-pole in fantastic costumes, or going through 
some of those half theatrical performances in which 
both players and audience delighted. There was a 
curious mixture of superstition and boldness in the life 
of the country people. Witches were believed in, ghosts 
were supposed to haunt every church-yard, and even 
fairies, goblins and elves had a place in their imagina- 
tion. The old people in the neighborhood were much 
thought of, since they could tell strange tales of what 
had happened in their youth. On winter evenings 
groups would gather about the firesides in the stone- 
floored kitchens of the peasantry, or the more spacious 
servants' hall of some gentleman's dwelling, and here 
the wildest, most improbable histories were recounted. 
Every house had its haunted room, and few old crones 
would admit that they had never seen a ghost. 

On All-hallows Eve and similar festivals, curious 
tricks were played and mysterious ceremonies gone 
through with, one of which will illustrate the character 
of the people. It was customary for a group to sit at 
midnight in some church-yard with eyes fixed intently 
upon the church door. If any one of the number was 
destined to die before the year was out, a ghostly figure 



no The Story of English Literature 

resembling his would be seen to enter the church-yard 
and slowly make its way into the church. An old 
chronicler of Stratford, speaking of this superstition 
gravely records that once, in such a group, one of the 
number fell asleep, and his companions, watching anx- 
iously, beheld the ghostly counterpart of their sleeping 
comrade enter the church door, upon which the horri- 
fied little company fled tumultuously. Signs and 
dreams were solemnly believed in. It was no uncom- 
mon thing for a shepherd returning late at night to 
declare that he had been followed by a witch, or even 
so remarkable a creature as a fairy. Fairies were 
supposed to steal, or change, children in their cradles, 
and it was even believed by the peasantry that on a 
certain night in the year, when the fairies came out to 
dance in the marshes, such children could be reclaimed* 
But great courage and patience were supposed to be 
necessary in this weird enterprise, and the old gossips 
about the firesides were fond of telling how a certain 
man, whose wife and child had both been stolen, went 
out to the moor to watch, on the given night ; his en- 
durance, however, gave way, and he fell asleep, wak- 
ing to hear sounds of unearthly laughter, and to see 
the fairies, on tiny, ghostly horses, riding away in the 
mist, his wife and child among them. These tales 
were listened to with awe and delight, and you can see 



For Young Readers. 113 

by what a spirit of imagination and wild fancy Shake- 
speare's boyhood was surrounded. 

The inhabitants of a country town in Queen Eliza- 
beth's day were very distinctly separated in class, and 
we find, by reading old chronicles, that there were even 
''nine sortes of gentlemen," counting upwards from 
the country squire through the nobility. Many luxu- 
ries, as you know, had been introduced into the house- 
holds of the rich ; and I will quote from Holinshead, 
a chronicler of that day, part of the description which 
he gives of a fine house : 

■'The wals of our houses at the inner sides in like 
sort be either hanged with tapisterie, arras worke or 
painted cloths, wherein either diverse histories, or 
hearbes, beasts, knots, and such like, are stained, or 
else they are seeled with oke of our owne, or wainescot 
brought hither out of the east countries, whereby the 
roomes are not a little commanded, made warme, and 
much more close than otherwise they would be. As 
for stoves, we have not hitherto used them greatlie 
yet do they now begin to be made in diverse houses of 
the gentrie Likewise in the houses of knights, gen- 
tlemen, etc., it is not geson to behold generallie their 
great provision of Turkic worke, pewter, brasse, line 
linen, and thereto costlie cupbords of plate, worth five 



114 The Story of English Literature 

or six hundred or a thousand pounds, to be deemed 
by estimation." 

In fine houses great f eastings and merry-makings 
took place on Christmas and New Year's Eve, Twelfth 
Night and Easter Day. Masquers and minstrels were 
employed in the great hall ; feast after feast would be 
provided, the stewards greatly enjoying the good 
cheer to which they were unused at other times. 

Shakespeare's allusions to these gay doings are so 
numerous, that in reading or seeing his plays, some 
knowledge of them is necessary to complete our en- 
joyment. 

We can imagine him, even as a boy, going about 
among the people, taking note of all the different 
characters, who were to be seen in a town like Strat- 
ford, and observing their peculiarities. Conspicuous 
figures in such a town were the pedagogue or school- 
master, who was frequently a conjurer as well ; the 
scrivener or writer of legal documents j the clergyman, 
who was often given the title of *' Sir '^ ; and that bundle 
of pomposity who combined in himself the duties of 
parish beadle, town-crier and sexton. 

Among the rural characters, the rich farmer or yeo- 
man held a prominent place, and we fancy the society 
in which John Shakespeare moved was of this class. 

In the peasant class was a creature who often fig- 



For Young Feaders. 115 

ures in Shakespeare's plays, the "country bumpkin," 
or lout. This fellow was sure to be found on all 
occasions of merry-making, and his stupidity was , a 
perpetual source of amusement even to the people 
accustomed to seeing him constantly. An old writer 
gives a curious account of this class : 

They worked in the fields, watched the sheep, or 
guided the oxen. " He expostulates with his oxen 
very understandingly," says Bishop Earle, " and 
speaks gee and ree better than English. His mind is 
not much distracted with objects, but if a good fat 
cow come in his way, he stands dumb and astonished, 
and though his haste be never so great, will fix here 
half an hour's contemplation. His habitation is some 
poor thatched roof, distinguished from his barn by 
the loop-holes that let out smoke, which the rain had 
long since washed through but for the double ceiling 
of bacon on the inside, which has hung there from his 
grandsire's time, and is yet to make rashers for his 
posterity. 

Sunday he esteemst a day to make merry in, and 
thinks a bag-pipe as essential to it as evening prayer 
where he walks very solemnly after service with his 
hands coupled behind him, and censures the dancing 



ii6 The Story of English Literature 

of his parish. His comphment with his neighbor is a 
good thump on the back. 

He is sensible of no calamity but the burning of a 
stack of corn or the overflowing of a meadow, and 
thinks Noah's flood the greatest plague that ever was; 
not because it drowned the world, but spoiled the 
grass. For death he is never troubled, and if he get 
in but his harvest before, let it come when it will, he 
cares not." 

Many years after Shakespeare left Stratford, he 
wrote the play of As You Like Lt, in which he drew 
very perfect pictures of these country people, in 
Audrey, Silvius and Phehe ; though the latter is some- 
what idealized. Beyond these humbler classes, Shakes- 
peare must, now and then, have had glimpses into 
the higher life of the day, whence he drew his L'Catherines 
and Portias, his Rosalinds and Celias, his Bassanios 
and Ro77ieos, his kings and courtiers. 

Much that was graceful and picturesque was brought 
into this simple country life in which the poet's early 
years were passed. Nothing could be prettier than the 
wedding festivals. It was customary to celebrate 
what was called the " troth-plight " some weeks in 
advance — a betrothal ceremony often alluded to in 
Shakespeare's plays and still retained in Germany 



For Yoimg Readers. 117 

and Russia to this day. It was performed by the 
clerg}'man, and in effect was very similar to the mar- 
riage service ; both this and tlie wedding were accom- 
panied by a pretty, simple sort of merry-making ; the 
bridal party generally walked to church, and a book* 
of the day describes the procession so quaintly that I 
must quote one passage : 

" The bride being attired in a gown of sheep's rus- 
set, and a kirtle of fine worsted, her hair attired with 
a 'billement of gold, and her hair as yellow as gold 
hanging down behind her which was curiously combed 
and plaited, she was led to church between two sweet 
boys with bride laces and rosemary tied about their 
silken sleeves. There was a fair bride-cup of silver, 
gilt, carried before her, wherein was a goodly branch 
of rosemary, gilded very fair, hung about mth silken 
ribbands of all colours. Musicians came next, then a 
group of maidens, some bearing great bride-cakes, 
others garlands of wheat finely-gilded ; and thus they 
passed on to the church." 

In the grammar school to which 3^oung Shakespeare 
W'as sent, few books were used, and so far as we now 
know, they consisted of the following : The Grammar 
of King Henry the Eighth, which by the command of 
Queen Elizabeth was taught in all the schools in the 

•History of Jack Newbury- 



ii8 The Story of Efiglish Literature 

realm : a work entitled EIPHNAPXIA, sive EUzahetha, 
This book was a eulogy on the character and govern- 
ment of Elizabeth and her ministers, and was likewise 
commanded to be read in every school : " a matchless 
contrivance," said Bishop Hurd, "to imprint a sense 
of loyalty on the minds of the people." To these were 
added some Greek and Latin text-books, but it is a 
question whether Shakespeare learned much of either 
language, for although his plays abound in classical al- 
lusions, several people of his own day declared that 
he was no scholar, but was indebted to others for his 
use of the learned languages. 

His father unfortunately became almost impover- 
ished, and withdrew him from school when still young, 
to assist towards the support of the family. At this 
time young Shakespeare's life must have been a 
strange mixture, for he read whatever he could lay his 
hands upon, and quaint old books they must have 
been. Looking at the volumes printed at that day, 
and now preserved in various museums, you see 
from the very type and binding how few could have 
found their way into poor households. But Shake- 
speare's imagination needed little to feed upon, and 
from even such scanty sources as he then possessed 
he may have drawn some of the inspiration which 



For Young Readers. 119 

later, within a few years, made him the greatest poet 
the world has ever known. 

During his boyhood he had doubtless assisted at 
many of the mysteries and miracle-plays performed at 
the grammar-school from time to time \ and he had 
also witnessed the splendid festivities at Kenihvorth 
Castle, given by the Earl of Leicester in honor of 
Queen Elizabeth. Nothing before or since has equalled 
those festivities at Kenihvorth. They lasted for days, 
and all the park and spacious courts and grounds of 
the castle became like a moving theatre. It was sup- 
posed, 5^ou know, that Leicester desired to obtain the 
queen's hand j but he had already been secretly 
married to poor Amy Robsart, whose story Sir Walter 
Scott has used for the foundation of his beautiful novel 
of Kenihvorth. 

Shakespeare was at this time twelve years of age, 
but his mind was such that he appreciated all the won- 
ders and splendors of the royal pageant, which he 
beheld with the eyes both of a poet and painter ; and 
we can fancy him afterwards, rambling about Stratford, 
fishing in the Avon, or nest-hunting, with his head 
full of the fancies suggested by all that he had seen 
and heard at Kenihvorth . 

The next event in his life at Stratford of which we 
have any account is rather a startling one, for at the 



120 The Story of English Literature 

age of eighteen he married Anne Hathaway, a farmer's 
daughter, eight years older than himself, who Hved in 
a cottage, still standing, in the neighboring village of 
Shottery. 

Within a few years, three children were born to 
them, and their names and dates of baptism are re- 
corded in the parish register : Susanna, and (twins) 
Hamnet and Judith. With the new cares and respon- 
sibilities of a family, Shakespeare began to think of 
something better in life than could be found at 
Stratford ; and, curiously enough, a very foolish cir- 
cumstance decided him to leave his native place. 

Close to Stratford was Charlecote, the manor of Sir 
Thomas Lucy, a nobleman of high distinction, who 
was unpopular with the villagers by reason of his proud 
and imperious manners. Fulbroke Park, which be- 
longed to him, was a favorite resort of Shakespeare, 
and it is supposed that this beautiful spot suggested 
to him, later, the play of As You Like Lt. 

In an hour of idle mischief or caprice, Shakespeare, 
still little more than a boy, joined some foolish fellows 
in an attempt at deer-stealing in Fulbroke Park ; but 
it was so quickly seen that his exploit had originated 
merely in a spirit of fun, that, after a short confine- 
ment in the keeper's lodge, he was released. A pub- 
lic reprimand was inflicted, however, by Sir Thomas, 




William Shakespeare. 



For Yoicng Readers. 123 

and Shakespeare, irritated by tliis, wrote some satirical 
verses which he fixed upon Sir Thomas' Park gates, 
and circulated about the country. This event is the 
only one in Shakespeare's life which seems to have 
produced an effect on the inhabitants of Stratford, who 
were quite unconscious that a great genius was growing 
up among them. 

A venerable man, Sir Thomas Jones, who lived in 
the last century at Stratford, remembered to have 
heard accurate accounts of this exploit, from his grand- 
parents, who were living there when it occurred ; but 
he, unfortunatel}^, could tell little else. 

Sir Thomas Lucy was exasperated by this foolish 
act of young Shakespeare, and began a prosecution 
for libel, which ended unpleasantly for the poet, who, 
having, as I have said, heavy cares and responsibili- 
ties, and feeling uncomfortable in Stratford, and 
beginning, perhaps, to realize the power of his own 
genius, determined to try his fortunes in London. 
This was about the year 1587 ; and in the last chapter 
I told you how flourishing plays and players had be- 
come by this time in London. Marlowe and Greene 
were busily at work, and so were a number of petty 
scribblers. Try and picture the young man from 
Stratford making his appearance among them, for it 
seems that his first thought was of the theatre. 



124 Th^ Story of English Literature 

The tradition that Shakespeare began life in Lon- 
don by hanging about the door of the theatre, and 
holding horses for those who came, is very improba- 
ble, for he had an intimate friend in Richard Burbage, 
of whom 1 spoke in the last chapter, and we may 
conclude that he at once joined the company of actors 
at Blackfriars ; at all events he was established as a 
player very soon after his arrival, and the best author- 
ities I have examined speak of him as acting very 
well. One of these, Chettle, writing of various 
persons connected with the theatre, says of Shake- 
speare : 

" Myselfe have scene his demeanor no less civil 
than he is excellent in the quality he professes. Be- 
sides divers of worship have reported his uprightness 
of dealing which argues his honestie and his facetious 
grace in writing that approves his art." * 

It seems a pity that we have no record of any special 
performances in which the great poet took part. 
Sometimes his name appeared with the list of actors 
at the top of a play-bill, but we seldom know even the 
part he performed. An aged man who died in Stratford 
long ago, told one of the poet's biographers that his 
great grandfather remembered to have seen Shake- 
speare perform the part of an old man in one of his 

* Reed's Shakespeare. Vol. II. pp. 237 — 233. 



For Young Readers. 125 

own plays ; and from the description we infer that it 
was the part of Ada?n in As You Like It, One of his 
favorite parts we know to have been Hamlet^ of which 
he made more than actors do, to-da3^ 

However, his attention was chiefly turned to htera- 
ture. He had ah'eady written a poem and dedicated it 
to the Earl of Southampton, and he now began those 
wonderful dramatic works which to-day place him 
beyond all comparison in the whole world of litera- 
ture. 

There is some dispute as to which play was written 
first. Some authorities say it was Richard II. in 
1593 ; others, that it was Henry VI. ; at all events, 
his first plays were upon historical subjects, and they 
followed in quick succession, being written rapidly 
and with entire unconsciousness of his own ^reat 
genius. It is said that he was first employed in 
revising or re-writing the plays of others, and in super- 
intending the productions brought to the manager of 
the theatre by obscurer writers. Among the earliest 
of his plays was Richard III. He was in the habit 
of visiting Crosby Hall, where, as I told you in a pre- 
vious chapter, so many famous persons had resided 
and which had been the palace of the wicked Duke of 
Gloucester afterwards Richard HI. 

While our poet was in London, acting with Bur- 



126 The Story of English Literature 

bage and writing liis historical dramas, Crosby Hall 
was the residence of that sweet sister of Sir Philip 
Sidney, to whom he wrote his Arcadia^ and Sliake- 
speare, who lived near by, was her constant guest. 

Walking about the quiet courtyard of Crosby Hall 
to-day, looking up at its oriel windows and through 
the archways, you can fancy Shakespeare strolling 
about here some summer evening or sitting in the 
deep window seats with " Sidney's sister, Pembroke's 
mother," and devising his wonderful tragedy of King 
Richard III; writing it for the merry players at 
Blackfriars — playing in it no doubt himself, for an au- 
dience who seem to have been only half conscious of 
the great genius among them. In the play when 
King Richard is represented as wooing Lady Anne, 
the widow of the murdered Edward, he says to her : 

Gloucester : 

" And if thy poor, devoted servant may 
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, 
Thou dost confirm his happiness forever." 
Anne : 

"What is it?" 
Gloucester : 

" That it would please thee leave these sad designs 
To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, 
And presently repair to Crosby House." 

Soon after this " The Merchant of Venice,''^ one of 
Shakespeare's finest plays, was written and put on the 



For" Young Readers. 127 

stage. In this his art is thought to have reached its 
highest point, although he was still young in years 
and fame. To this day, phrases and ideas in *' The 
Merchant of Venice^'' are quoted in all the languages of 
the civilized world j but their author hardly seems to 
have thought his genius worth more than the suc- 
cesses at the little theatre, and lived modestly and un- 
obtrusively, with so little that was conspicuous in- 
deed, that few of his fellow workers thought it worth 
while to give posterity a record of his life. 

Pictures of him are fortunately in our possession, 
and from these we can fancy him walking about Bish- 
opsgate, going in and out of the theatre, jesting in 
his gentle fashion — a well-built man thirty-five or 
thereabouts, with a handsome grave face, expressive 
eyes, and a noble forehead, wearing the moustache 
and pointed beard of the day, dressing in the cos- 
tumes of Queen Elizabeth's courtiers ; a gentleman, 
I fancy, in every sense of the word ; honorable and 
upright all his companions testify. 

By this time, the company and managers of Black- 
friars Theatre had made a better start in the world, 
and a new theatre, The Globe, was started on the other 
side of the river. Shakespeare himself became a 
stock proprietor, and from the outset the enterprise 
was successful. 



128 The Story of English Liter aticre 

He was making many friends in London among the 
great people of the day. But, now and then, he re- 
freshed himself with a trip to his old home ; enjoying 
the relaxation of the quiet country life, the society of 
his wife and children, his old friends, who were doubt- 
less proud enough of their now famous townsman. 
He had not forgotten Sir Thomas Lucy's severit}', for 
he had pictured him as ^'"Justice SJiallow^^ in the 
Merry Wives of Windsor^ a play written expressly to 
please Queen Elizabeth. 

Up in London he was patronized by the Queen, and 
certainly he had the very best literary society of the 
day. Lord Bacon, a great writer, of whom we shall 
hear more later, was then a comparatively young 
man, but high in public estimation^ and there is no 
doubt a friendship existed between him and the great 
dramatist. The Earl of Essex was Bacon's friend and 
Shakespeare's as well, and the three must have had 
many pleasant meetings. 

One of the poet's friends was old John Florio, the 
compiler of the first Italian Dictionary. Florio was a 
constant visitor at the Earl of Southampton's where 
Shakespeare frequently met him, and from Florio he 
no doubt got many exceljent suggestions for the 
scenes and incidents of his plays. 

That Shakespeare was much loved by his friends 



For Young headers. 129 

we may be very sure. All allusions to him are kindly 
and gentle in their spirit ; except where an occasional 
rival spoke slightingly of him as an author, we find 
no mention of him that is not pleasant; and there 
is no act recorded in his life as a man that does not 
prove him upright and honorable towards all the 
world. 

In business matters he found himself singularly 
successful for a genms. He was soon second on the 
list of stockholders at the Globe Theatre, and the 
wardrobe and stage accessories belonged to him. At 
the lowest estimate his income must have been three 
hundred pounds a year; a sum worth in our money 
to-day, at least eight thousand dollars. 

In 1602 he purchased a home in Stratford, ^'' New 
Flace^^ the site of which is shown at the present time ; 
and from year to year he added to his property. He 
looked with more and more pleasure to his country 
home, as the business of life increased, but his pen was 
rarely idle. He wrote his plays hurriedly first for stage 
representation, but later, altered, corrected and revised 
them j a proof of his own fine feeling for his art, as 
well as his powers of self-criticism. 

Among Shakespeare's London friends one figure is 
most prominent. Have you not heard the phrase — 



130 The Story of English Literature 

"Oh! Rare Ben Jonson?" This was applied to 
Shakespeare's fellow-worker, considered the next 
dramatist to the " Bard of Avon." 

But to-day Jonson's w^ork cannot be compared to 
that of Shakespeare. While Hamlet^ Macbeth^ The 
Merchant of Veiiice^ Romeo and yuliet, and all the 
rest are acted, read, tranlsated, studied, and loved by 
all the world, Ben Jonson's works exist in little more 
than the name; but in the Sixteenth century days 
they were greatly thought of, and Jonson himself was 
quite a famous man. 

He was born in 1573, when Shakespeare was nine 
years old, when Spenser was twenty, and when 
Greene and Marlowe were boys. His father was a 
clergyman, but his mother, being a widow, married 
soon again, this time to a bricklayer; and it is said 
Ben learned his step-father's very humble trade. 
However he went to Westminster School and was a 
pupil of William Camden, a famous antiquary who 
died about 1625. Later, Jonson had some college 
life, but while very young joined the army then fight- 
ing in Holland and Flanders. 

At the age of ninetegi, however, he was acting at 
the " Curtain Theatre " in London, and already be- 
ninning, like many others, to scribble for the stage. 
His first work of any note was, " Every Man in his 



For Young Readers. 131 

Humor ^'^ brought out in 1596. This play has un- 
doubtedly certain merits, for Jonson possessed genius ; 
but this humor is often rough and coarse, and he 
wrote chiefly to please the people of his own day 
while Shakespeare's genius was at work for all the 
future. 

Jonson's companionship was eagerly sought. He 
was a merry, ease-loving, good-natured wit, fond of 
classical learning and literature ; but fond also of a 
tavern supper where he was recognized as the chief 
member of the company. He and Shakespeare may 
have been, in a certain way, rivals, but we find many 
expressions which show that Jonson truly loved his 
greater friend. " My darling Shakespeare," he calls 
him once; and again, "Sweet Swan of Avon," and 
" Gentle Will." It is pleasant to think of them asso- 
ciated as they were, both as actors and writers. 

Even then, though young, Jonson had rather a 
burly figure ; his face was florid j his eyes twinkled. 
He had a merry jest ready for every one, and his 
laugh was very sweet. Sometimes, he and the 
" Sweet Swan of Avon " indulged in a sort of game 
of wit, each trying to outdo the other in merry 
speeches. But Shakespeare never had Jonson's rep- 
utation for jesting and light-heartedness of speech. 

In 1598, " Every Man in his Humor^^ was played at 



132 TJie Story of English Literature 

"The Globe," and Shakespeare took a leading part. 
The public cheered Jonson. The Queen encouraged 
him j but he had his own vexations. While Shake- 
peare's life flowed on temperately and smoothly, poor 
Jonson had a hundred petty troubles and trials ; some- 
times, it is true, very great ones. 

He fought a duel, killing his opponent ; and later, 
some early friends of his having been tried for trea- 
son, Jonson boldly declared he was one of the accom- 
plices. He was thrown into prison and narrowly es- 
caped with his life. While in the dungeon, it was 
supposed condemned to death, his old mother pre- 
pared a poison, of which she intended to give him a 
part the day before his execution, taking the rest her- 
self. But Jonson was set free at last, and his noisy 
burly figure was seen in the world again. 

Meanwhile, Shakespeare's great work went on, un- 
touched by the occasional shafts, which, of course 
were shot at him. His first plays had been historical. 
He now turned to lighter subjects and wrote Much 
Ado About Nothing, and As You Like It. His life in 
these days was particularly bright and hapjDy it is 
thought ; but in As You Like Jt, merry as the play is, 
one character, that of ^a^yues, shows how perfectly 
the poet appreciated the melancholy side of human 



133 -^^ Young Readers, 

nature. But of these plays, and all that followed, we 
will speak later. 

Twelfth Night, or What Yoic Will, a delightful 
comedy, was about this time produced at the Temple, 
the students performing it while the queen and her 
court witnessed it with dehght. It was acted in the 
great Hall, and the old records of the Temple speak 
of it as a fine performance ; but little is said of its 
author. After the play was over, the queen danced 
several times with different lords and gentlemen, and 
a banquet was held. Shakespeare, no doubt, was one 
of the company. 

Soon after this his life was greatly saddened. 
Some of his near and dear friends were ruined. Es- 
sex was beheaded, Southampton sent to the Tower — 
all these sad events must have filled our poet with 
dismay and melancholy ; and his work henceforth 
shows that he felt more of the sterner part of life. 
Hamlet, the king of all tragedies, was soon after 
written. 

In 1603 Queen Elizabeth died, and James I. came 
to the throne. Court Masques became all the rage, 
but Shakespeare disdained to write anything of the 
kind. They were curious allegorical performances, 
neither one thing nor the other ; hardly to be classed 
as dramatic except in action and a sort of representa- 



134 The Story of English Literature 

tion about them, but not to be compared with the 
great works of Shakespeare. Jonson wrote for them, 
and other writers sprang into notice as composers of 
comedies. 

Beaumont and Fletcher, two friends who wrote 
together, became well known ; also a host of others, 
Dekker, Middleton, etc., and in the first year of 
the reign of James I. no less than eighteen theatres 
were in existence in the city of London, where thirty 
years before not one was known. 



For Young Readers. 135 



SHAKESPEARE AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES. {Continued^ 

Friendship between Shakespeare and Ben Jonson. — Queen 
Elizabeth at the theatre. — Shakespeare leaves London, 1609. — 
His life at Stratford. — His daughters. — His death, in 161 6. — 
Relics preserved at Stratford. — Ben Jonson's last years. — The 
Apollo Club. — Randolph, the poet, meets Jonson. — Death of 
Jonson, in 1623. — Extracts from the Plays. 

MANY writers have tried to prove that Shake- 
speare and Ben Johson were not good friends ; 
but there is every evidence to the contrary. 

I have told you in what terms Jonson spoke of 
Shakespeare. More than this, there are records 
made by those who saw the two together, which show 
us clearly enough the friendly, good-natured feeling 
that existed between the two. 

Jonson, as I have said, spent much of his time at 
the taverns, where also Shakespeare was occasionally 



136 TJie Story of English Literature 

to be found, and Fuller, a writer of the day, speaks 
of them as follows : 

" Many were the wit-combats betwixt him [ Shake- 
speare ] and Ben Jonson ; which two I beheld, like a 
Spanish great galleon and an English man-of-war. 
Master Jonson, like the former, was built far higher 
in learning; solid, but slow in his performances. 
Shakespeare, like the English man-of-war, lesser in 
bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, 
tack about, and take advantage of all winds, by the 
quickness of his wit and invention." 

At the theatre they met on good terms ; and al- 
though Jonson had not Shakespeare's success, he 
seems to have understood that he did not merit it. 
Shakespeare, after some years of patient earnest work, 
found himself rich enough to retire from public life j 
many think from his anxiety to do this, that his heart 
was not in his profession ; but such was not the case. 
One anecdote among many will show you how en- 
tirely he threw himself into the character he was per- 
forming, and how well he appreciated what was be- 
coming in an actor. It is said that Queen Elizabeth 
was fond of witnessing plays from behind the scenes ; 
and on one occasion, while Shakespeare was acting, 
she walked across the stage ; the audience loudly ap- 
plauded her, and the queen, turning to the poet, 



For Young Eeaders. 137 

bowed very politely. Shakespeare, however, went on 
with his acting, taking no notice of her majesty, who 
retiring behind the scenes did her best to attract his 
attention. When he was about to leave the stage 
she again appeared, and this time dropped her glove. 
Shakespeare, who was playing the Ki?ig, in Henry IV., 
stooped to pick it up, at the same time adding these 
lines to tlie speech he was making : 



" And though now bent on this high embassy, 
Yet stoop we to take up our cousin's glove." 



Leaving the stage he handed the glove to her maj- 
esty, who exclaimed with delight at the dignity of his 
behavior. 

In 1609 Shakespeare left London for the home he 
had bought at Stratford-on-Avon. He was then in 
his forty-fifth year ; his genius still at its best ; but we 
fancy that the death of friends had subdued him. He 
retained a strong affection for his native town, and 
his home there is described as a large comfortable 
dwelling of brick and plaster, the garden of which he 
specially enjoyed. His t\vo daughters, Susanna and 
Judith, lived with him ; the former, we are told, was 
his favorite, a girl of quick perceptions and natural 
sweetness of disposition ; but it is a singular fact that, 



138 The Story of English Literature 

while the ladies of the metropolis whom Shakespeare 
certainly had visited were skilled in every accom- 
plishment of the day, his own daughters were left 
with comparatively slight education. 

Susanna had acquired some book learning and, we 
doubt not, was her father's companion in his studies 
of this time ; but Judith, as a document of Stratford 
testifies, could not, at the age of thirty-two, write her 
own name ! Of Shakespeare's wife we know but lit- 
tle. She and the poet seem to have had certain mis- 
understandings which kept them apart, and it is sup- 
posed that Shakespeare made a settlement upon her 
during his lifetime, since in his will he made only a 
trifling mention of her — leaving to her his second- 
best bed-stead. 

The poet's life now glided on peacefully and com- 
fortably in his native town. He continued to write ; 
some of his best plays being the work of these years 
of retirement : one of them, A Winter's Tale, was 
performed for the first time at Court, in the presence 
of King James I., in 161 1*; and in this play occur 
some of the most beautiful and tender lines from his 
pen. He is said to have written Henry VIII., one of 
these later plays, in coVmection with the dramatist 
Fletcher. His manuscripts were sent to London, 

* The dates of Shakespeare's plays are difficult to determine ; even the best 
authorities differing somewhat. 



For Young Readers. 139 

where they were bought by the theatre managers and 
the plays performed ; but not until years later were 
they published in book form. We know, unfortunately, 
but little of the poet's life at this time, but it must 
have been a pleasant one ; he had society, and that 
of a good kind, in the neighborhood j and occasion- 
ally references are made to visits he received from 
old London friends. 

One of his Stratford associates was Doctor Hall, a 
learned physician and a man of excellent family, to 
whom, in June, 1607, Susanna Shakespeare was mar- 
ried. The poet seems to have been well pleased with 
this arrangment ; much more so than with the mar- 
riage, in 16 16, of his youngest daughter, Judith, to 
one Thomas Quincy, a vintner, of Stratford. Soon 
after this, though in perfect health, Shakespeare made 
his will, leaving the bulk of his property to Susanna 
and her heirs. Of his last days we have no record ; 
his death must have been sudden, for we know that 
on the 25th of March, when he made his will, he was, 
as he says himself in the first paragraph of the docu- 
ment, " in perfect health and memory ; " and on the 
23d of April, 1 6 16, the fifty-second anniversary of his 
birth, he died. 

Doctor Hall, his son-in-law, was much given to 
writing accounts of diseases and their symptoms and 



140 The Story of English Literature 

treatment as studied by himself, and it is remarkable 
that he left no record of the mortal illness of so great 
a man as Shakespeare, which he might undoubtedly 
have described. We only know that Shakespeare 
died, as I have said, and two days later, on the 25th 
of April, 16 1 6, he was buried. 

Some years later, a monument was erected by his 
daughter and Doctor Hall, in the parish church of 
Stratford. It consists of a half-length statue fitted 
into the wall above the tomb, which is near the altar 
of the church; though made of marble, it was 
painted so as to closely resemble the poet; "the 
hands and face were of flesh color, the eyes of a light 
hazel, and the hair and beard auburn j the doublet, 
or coat, was scarlet and covered with a loose black 
gown, or tabard, without sleeves."* 

About 1793, the bust was whitewashed over; but 
years afterwards the whitewash was removed, and the 
original colors were found to remain intact, as they 
do to this day. The bust is supposed to be a faith- 
ful likeness of the poet, and the fact that one side of 
the face is somewhat larger than the other, indicates 
that it was probably copied from a plaster cast actu- 
ally moulded upon Shakespeare's face. 

Upon the slab covering his tomb in the floor of the 
church is the following epitaph : 

* Brittotit on Monumental bust of SJiakes^eare. 1816. 



For Young Readers, 143 

Good frend for Jesvs sake forbeare 
To digg the dvst encloased heare, 
Blese be ye man yt spares thes stones, 
And cvrst be he yt moves my bones. 

This inscription was intended to preserve Shake- 
speare's tomb, as in those days changes were often 
roughly and rudely made ; it is supposed that his re- 
mains would long since have been removed to West- 
minster Abbey but for this verse. 

The last lineal descendant of Shakespeare was 
Elizabeth, daughter of Susanna and Doctor Hall. She 
married twice ; the last time becoming Lady Barnard ; 
but died in 1675, without children. At her death, 
" New Place," the home for which Shakespeare had 
labored and where his last years were spent, passed 
into the hands of strangers \ coming finally into the 
possession of a clergyman named Gastrell, who cared 
nothing for its associations but barbarously pulled it 
down, giving as an excuse that he had been tormented 
by visitors interested in the great poet's last dwelling- 
place ; it was known, however, that his real purpose 
was to escape paying the parish taxes. Determined 
to leave no trace of Shakespeare, he even uprooted 
the beautiful mulberry-tree which the poet had 
planted, with his own hands, in the garden. This 
desecration happened more than a century ago,* but 

* In the year 1759, it is said. 



144 ^^^ Story of English Literature 

the site of the house has not been built upon and its 
foundations may still be seen. 

The house in which Shakespeare was born has had 
a better fate ; as I have already told you, it still stands 
in Henley Street, in good condition, and has been 
used for some years as a museum. Within it we may 
see various pieces of furniture and household belong- 
ings once used by Shakespeare's family ; these are 
but a few relics connected with his daily life, gathered 
together in the spot which he loved ; but his works 
are for all time and all places, and teach new beauties 
and new truths to each succeeding generation. 

It was not until the beginning of the Eighteenth 
century that strong interest in Shakespeare's life as w6ll 
as his works, brought people to Stratford-upon-Avon for 
the great poet's sake ; then, famous men of the day 
searched for signs of his life. The little town grew 
celebrated. In 1769 the great actor, Garrick, inaugu- 
rated a festival at Stratford, in Shakespeare's honor. 
Not since the days of the revels at Kenilworth, an 
eye witness records, had such throngs of people been 
seen in the neighborhood of the little town. At day- 
break on September 6th, heralds and trumpeters 
roused all from their slumbers, and the Jubilee began ; 
all day long the entertainments lasted ; speeches and 
banquets during daylight, at night a brilliant mas- 



For Young Readers. 145 

querade and grand performance in the Shakespeare 
Hall took place. All Stratford rang with the poet's 
praises and honor. 

More than half a century passed, and then in 1830 
a second Jubilee was given ; the great feature of this 
one being a procession of the characters in Shake- 
speare's plays. Falstaff^ Shylock, jRomeo, Othello^ all 
these and many others were seen in the quiet village 
streets, where their author had played as a boy. Still 
later, in 1864, the grandest of all celebrations took 
place ; singers, poets, authors, musicians, the great 
from many lands, assembled to do honor to the dead 
master of English poetry. Could that first band of 
players at Blackfriars have wakened to see their com- 
rade thus honored, what would they have thought, I 
wonder ! Of them all, Ben Johnson alone seems to 
have guessed at what future generations would do for 
his friend, and to the closing chapter of Johnson's 
life we must turn now, before speaking further of 
Shakespeare's works. 

While Shakespeare lived peacefully at Stratford, 
poor Ben Jonson's life up in London had been going 
on not so prosperously. He had continued to write ; 
Sejaniis^ Volpofie, and The Silent Wo7nan^ were among 
his best known plays, but he was poor, and ill in 



146 The Story of English Literature 

health. At one time he visited the Scotch poel 
Drummond, at his beautiful country seat " Hawthorn- 
den," mentioned in a former chapter. There, the two 
conversed on all manner of literary subjects. Spenser, 
Sidney, Shakespeare and many others were discussed. 
Jonson had very strong feelings and prejudices and it 
would hardly do to take his opinion of every one, but 
I think he was always kindly and generous at heart. 

There was then a famous old tavern in London 
called " The Devil " for what reason it is hard to say. 
Tavern signs in England are, even now, often whim- 
sical and meaningless. The sign representing St. 
Dunstan tweaking the devil by the nose, hung out at 
a quaint house in Fleet Street, Number Two, and in 
the days of Shakespeare and Ben Jonson, many fa- 
mous men used to pass in at the doorway beneath. 
Jonson established a club, called "The Apollo," 
which held its meetings at " The Devil," and here he 
was the ruling spirit. Over the chimney-piece of the 
little room devoted to the gay meetings of the club 
were engraved in gold letters its rules and regula- 
tions from which I will quote a few lines : 



" Let none but guests or clubbers hither come ; 
Let dunces, fools, and sordid men keep home j 
Let learned, civil, merry men b' invited, 
And modest too." 



For Young Readers, 147 

Besides the general members of "The Apollo," 
Jonson admitted twelve young men to be his " poeti- 
cal sons," or, as they were sometimes called, " follow- 
ers of the tribe of Ben." 

Randolph, a young poet of the day, hearing much 
of these meetings at "The Devil," longed to be ad- 
mitted ; but he had spent all his fortune, was shabby 
in dress and forlorn in appearance ; however, he re- 
solved to try his chances, and one night when the 
club was in a gay good humor, he ventured to the 
door and timidly looked in. There sat the merry 
company. Jonson, huge in form and jovial of face, 
was presiding ; glancing up, the great dramatist caught 
sight of the new face peering in at the door: he 
roared out to Randolph to come in. The young poet 
drew back, conscious of his shabby, threadbare gar- 
ments, and four members of the club instantly began 
rhyming upon his poverty-stricken appearance ; but 
Jonson cried out : " by the piper, I believe this is my 
own son, Randolph ! " Meaning one of his poetical 
favorites ; and the young poet, admitting this, was 
cordially made welcome and soon known as one of the 
gay little club.* 

The Apollo Club was well known for many years 
after this ; but Jonson, though he had been made the 

* He afterwards became a clergyman, and died young. 



148 The Story of English Literature 

Poet Laureate of England, began to lose in health 
and friends, and poverty and disease seem to have 
come to him together. In his old age he wrote a 
pastoral drama, The Sad Shepherd, in which we see 
him becoming gentle and tender as his last days drew 
near. The efforts of a rival had lost him the favor of 
the Court, but when he was in dire distress, ill, almost 
dying, the Duke of New Castle gave him some help ; 
he wrote for a special performance his last play, The 
New Inn, which was not a success, but the epilogue 
contains these touching lines : 

If you expect more than you had to-night, 

The maker is sick and sad . . . 

All that his faint and falt'ring tongue doth crave, 

Is that you not impute it to his brain, 

That's yet unhurt, altho' set round with pain, 

It cannot long hold out. 

Is not this a very sad picture ? It was some years 
after Shakespeare's death, or we may be sure poor 
Jonson would not have been so lonely, and sick at 
heart in his last hours. He had lived and written his 
last lines in a house close to Westminster Abbey, 
which, an old writer (Aubrey ) tells us, " you pass in 
going from the church-yard to the old palace ;" there 
in 1637, he died, and was buried in the Abbey. 

While the stone mason was fitting the slab to the 



For Young Readers, 151 

tomb, " Jack Young," one of Jonson's obscure admir- 
ers passed by and gave him eighteen pence (about 
thirt}^-seven cents ) for carving upon it the now fa- 
mous words : " O Rare Ben Jonson." 

The works of Shakespeare show us a genius of the 
highest type. They combine so much that it would 
be impossible to criticise or even characterize them in 
a few words. The coarseness of the age in which he 
wrote was likely to influence any author but it affected 
Shakespeare only slightly. Whatever coarseness we 
find in his writings we must look upon as due to the 
period ; words and phrases then commonly used are 
now considered vulgar and even gross, but, passing 
over this, we must think only of the wonderful combi- 
nation of the genius. His plays give evidence of 
every phase of thought and feeling possible to the 
human mind. His characters represent every type 
of human nature. No writer ever has excelled 
Shakespeare in imagination, in tenderness, pathos or 
tragedy; in philosophy, humanity, or a conception of 
the sublime. To thoroughly understand his writings 
the experiences of a lifetime are needed ; but all can 
enjoy them. No quotations I could give you in this 
space would do more than illustrate certain points in 
his st}-le, but you shall have two extracts, one from 



152 The Story of EiigUsh Literature 

the Me7'chant of Venice^ written in 1598 ; and one 
from King jfohn written in 1598 also, in which the 
stibii77ie, and the pathetic in Shakespeare's style are 
represented. 

The plays were written in three or four periods ; 
but they give us but a slight clue to his life and char- 
acter. In the last period perhaps we can see how 
Shakespeare's life was saddened by the death or ruin 
of several of his friends ; Southampton, Essex and 
Pembroke. 

Hamlet, King Lear, Macbeth, and Julius Ccezar, be- 
long to this period. In the Winters Tale, and The 
Tempest, written almost at the last, we see how his- 
fine imagination was untouched by time. 

With Ben Jonson it was different. His last efforts 
were unequal to his first — perhaps this was because, 
as he said, he was tired and sick at heart. His style 
was always powerful, and his originality great ; but 
his genius weakened as he grew old, and poverty and 
disease came together. Some of his Court Masques 
were popular long after his death. From one of them, 
The Golden Age Restored, I will make a few extracts, 
so that you may observe not only his style, in light 
efforts, but that of the Masque belonging to the reigns 
of Queen Jilizabeth and James I. 



For Young Feaders. 153 

Scene from the Merchant of Venice. \Act III.'] 

Portia, disguised as a lawyer, is defending her hus- 
band's friend Antonio from the cruel demands of 
Shylock, a Jewish money-lender. Antonio has bor- 
rowed from this man three thousand ducats, with the 
agreement that if the money is not repaid on a cer- 
tain day, the Jew is to have a pound of Antonio's 
flesh. At the opening of this scene, the day has come 
and Antonio cannot pay. Portia's husband, Bassanio, 
has offered to pay for him, but the Jew refuses, saying 
that he does not want money and will have only the 
pound of flesh from the body of Antonio, whom he 
hates. 

For. Do you confess the bond ? 

Ant. I do. 

For. Then must the Jew be merciful. 

Sky. On what compulsion must I ? tell me that. 

For. The quality of mercy is not strain' d ; 

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 

Upon the place beneath ; it is twice bless'd; 

It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 

The throned monarchy better than his crown ; 

His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 

The attribute to awe and majesty, 

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; 

But mercy is above this sceptred sway, 

It is enthroned in the heart of kings, 

It is an attribute to God himself ; 



154 The Story of English Liter attire 

And earthly power doth then show likest God's 

When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 

Though justice be thy plea, consider this — 

That in the course of justice, none of us 

Should. see salvation : we do pray for mercy; 

And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 

The deeds of mercy. I have spoken thus much, 

To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; 

Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 

Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

Shy. My deeds upon my head 1 I crave the law. 

The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

For. Is he not able to discharge the money ? 

Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court ; 

Yea, twice the sum : if that will not suffice, 

I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 

On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart : 

If this will not suffice, it must appear 

That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you. 

Wrest once the law to your authority : 

To do a great right do a little wrong ; 

And curb this cruel deyil of his will. 

For. It must not be ; there is no power in Venice 

Can alter a decree established : 

'T will be recorded for a precedent ; 

And many an error, by the same example, 

Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 

Shy. A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel ! 

O wise young judge, how do I honor thee ! 

Portia then bids the Jew cut his pound of flesh, 
but reminds him it was not in the bond that he should 
shed a drop of blood, and should he do so, he would 
be tried for murder. The play therefore ends with 
Shylock's confusion and Antonio's triumph. 



JFor Young Readers. 155 

Scene from King John. \Act IVI\ 

The king has commanded Hubert, his chamberlain, 
to put out the eyes of Prince Arthur, the rightful heir 
to the throne, whom he has displaced. 



Hub. Good morning, little prince. 

Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
To be more prince,) as may be. — You are sad. 
Hicb. Indeed, I have been merrier. 
Arth. Mercy on me ! 

Methinks, nobody should be sad but I : 
Yet, I remember, when I was in France, 
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
I should be as merry as the day is long ; 
And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
My uncle practises more harm to me : 
He is afraid of me, and I of him : 
Is it my faith that I was Geffrey's son ? 
No, indeed, is 't not ; And I would to heaven 
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 
Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch. \Aside. 
Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day: 
In sooth, I would you were a little sick ; 
That I might sit all night and watch with you : 
I warrant I love you more than you do me. 
Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.— 
Read here, young Arthur. {Shewing a paper. 
How now, foolish rheum \Aside, 
Turning dispiteous torture out of door I 
I roust be brief j lest resolution drop 



156 TJie Story of English Literature 

Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. 
Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ? 
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : 
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ? 
Hitb. Young boy, I must. Arth. And will you ? 
Hub. And I will. 

Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did 
I knit my hand-kercher about your brows, ( but ake, 
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) 
And I did never ask it you again : 
And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour. 
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time : 
Saying, What lack you ? and, Where lies your grief ? 
Or, What good love may I perform for you "i 
Many a poor man's son would have lain still. 
And ne'er have spoken a loving word to you : 
But you at your sick service had a prince. 
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love. 
And call it, cunning ; do, and if you will : 
If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill. 
Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes ? 
These eyes, that never did nor never shall. 
So much as frown on you .'' 
Hub. I have sworn to do it ; 

And with hot irons must I burn them out. 
Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it ! 
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot. 
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
'And quench his fiery indignation. 
Even in the matter of mine innocence ; 
Nay, after that, consume away in rust. 
But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron ? 
And if an angel should have come to me. 
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
I would not have believ'd him. No tongue but Hubert's 



For Young Readers, 157 

Hubert finally yields to Arthur's pathetic entrea- 
ties : the play ends with the death of King John. 



Ben Jonson, besides writing various poems and 
dramas, and establishing a regular system for come- 
dies, wrote many famous masques. These were usu- 
ally performed on such occasions as marriages in high 
life, or great Court festivals, and were allegorical j the 
characters representing virtues or vices, mythological 
personages, or sometimes famous men of a previous 
generation. One of Jonson's masques was entitled 
The Golde7i Age Restored^ and was performed at Court 
by " the lords and gentlemen, the king's servants," as 
a compliment to King James I. 

It opens with loud musiv^ : then Pallas^ or Minerva, 
descends in a chariot to softer music. 

Pallas : 

Look, look ! rejoice and wonder 
That you, offending mortals, are 
(From all your crimes) so much the care 
Of him that bears the thunder. 

Meaning Jove : she then goes on to say that Jove 
intends to give the world a Golden Age. Here, a tu- 
mult and clashing of arms is heard behind the scenes. 

But hark I what tumult from yond' cave is heard ? 
What noise, what strife, what earthquake and alarms, 



158 The Story of English Literature 

As troubled Nature for her maker feared 
And all the Iron Age were up in arms ! 

Pallas retires behind a cloud, and the Iron Age ap- 
pears, a strong iron-clad man who calls up all the 
Evils. 

Come forth, come forth, do we not hear 

What purpose and how worth our fear 

The king of gods hath on us ? 

He is not of the Iron breed, 

That would, though Fate did help the deed, 

Let Shame in so upon us. 

Which of you would not in a war 
Attempt the price of any scar, 
To keep your own states even ? 
But here, which of you is that he, 
Would not himself the weapon be, 
To rein Jove and heaven ? 

About it, then, and let him feel 
The Iron Age is turned to steel, 
Since he begins to threat her : 
And though the bodies here are less 
Than were the giants ; he'll confess 
Our malice is far greater. 

The Evils enter, in various costumes, and perform 
a dance to martial music, in the midst of which Pallas 
reappears, holding up her shield. The Evils are 
turned to statues. 

Pallas : 

^ ^ ^ 5|« *K vN t!* 

Die, all that can remain of you but stone 
And that be seen awhile and then be none. 



For Young Readers. 159 

Now, now descend, you both beloved of Jove 
And of the good on earth no less the love. 

The scene changes. 

Descend, you long, long wished and wanted pair, 

And as your softer times divide the air, 

So shake all clouds off with your golden hair ; 

For spite is spent : the Iron Age is fled, 

And with her power on earth, her name is dead. 

Astrcea and the Golden Age descend singing : Pal- 
las assures them that they will be well received by 
the people of earth ; for 

If not, they harm themselves, not you. 

She then summons the spirits of Chaucer, Gower, 
Lydgate and Spenser, who all appear. 

Chaticer and Gower. We come. 
Lydgate and Spenser. We come. 
All. Our best of fire. 
Is that which Pallas doth inspire. 

They take part in the general rejoicing that earth 
is to have a Golden Age once more, and disappear : 
After which a beautiful dance, by the ladies and gen- 
tlemen of the company, takes place. 

Pallas. Already do not all things smile ? 
Astrcea. But then they have enjoy' d a while 
The Age's quickening power : 
Age. That every thought a seed doth bring, 



i6o The Story of English Literature 

And every look a plant doth spring, 

And every breath a flower : 

Pallas. The earth unploughed shall yield her crop, 

Pure honey from the oak shall drop, 

The fountain shall run milk : 

The thistle shall the lily bear, 

And every bramble roses wear, 

And every worm make silk. 



For Young JReaders. i6i 



VI. 



FRANCIS BACON. 

Bacon's Boyhood at York House — Early Glimpses of Court 
Splendors — Queen Elizabeth and her " Young Lord Keeper " 

— The Queen at Dinner — Bacon's Education — Death of his 
Father and Ungenerous Conduct of his Uncle — Bacon in 
Parliament — His Strange Ingratitude to the Earl of Essex 

— Execution of Essex and Death of the Queen — Bacon's 
Marriage, and Brilliant Career at Court — Literature and Sci- 
ence at Corhambury — Bacon's Guilt and Terrib.e Downfall — 
Ben Jonson's View of Him — His Last Days. 

YOU have seen hov/ Poetry and the Drama flour- 
ished in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, but you 
must not suppose that literature was confined to these 
two modes of composition. 

While Shakespeare and Ben Jonson were writing 
plays, one of the greatest philosophers the world has 
ever known grew famous. This was Francis Bacon. 



1 63 The Story of English Literature 

He was born in high hfe ; he had great ambitions ; 
his character was a strange mixture of greatness and 
meanness ; he established what is called a new sys- 
tem of philosophy ; he was one of the most eloquent 
speakers ever listened to in the House of Commons ; 
he received the highest honors and the lowest degra- 
dation his country could bestow. With all this you 
may well imagine that the story of his career is a cu- 
rious one. 

We must turn away from Blackfriar's Theatre, from 
the narrow Holywell Street where the players lived, 
from Southwark, from the " Mermaid " and " Devil " 
taverns ; for we are now going into court society 
among the fine ladies and gentlemen of Elizabeth's 
reign. Passing under Temple Bar and down the 
Strand in 1540 you would have come upon a stately 
mansion set back from the street, with a brick-walled 
garden and a heavy iron gateway. Any lounger about 
could have told you that this was York House, the 
residence of Sir Nicholas Bacon, the Keeper of the 
Queen's Seal. 

Great doings went on within those stately walls. 
When the Queen honored her Lord-Keeper with a 
visit every tiny window-pane was illuminated, banners 
were hung out, and gorgeous banquets were prepared 
in the great hall. Dances sometimes took place 



For Young Readers. 163 

there, and masques, and the sounds of revelry could 
be heard even by the boatmen far out on the river 
Thames which flowed past the lower gardens of the 
house. 

Lady Bacon was a great favorite at court. She 
was one of the noted learned women of the day, read- 
ing and writing Greek and Latin and Hebrew more 
readily than many college graduates could do to-day. 
It may seem strange to you that the women of Queen 
Elizabeth's time should have been such fine classical 
and Italian scholars. Lady Bacon, I think, could 
have shown you a reason for this in her own book- 
shelves. If she had not understood those languages 
and could not have read Plato and Homer and Vir- 
gil and Cicero and Boccaccio and Petrarch, what 
would there have been for her to read in her own 
tongue ? She undoubtedly possessed every impor- 
tant English book that had been printed in her day, 
and could have shown you the \vorks of Gower and 
Chaucer, some sermons and homilies, some quaint 
old ballads, and, perhaps, a few specimens of English 
prose and verse earlier than Chaucer's. But all these 
she could have read through from beginning to end 
many times in a month ; so that, naturally, in those 
days people who were fond of reading used to go 
back to the Latin authors. 



164 The Story oj English Literature 

Lady Bacon was one of three very famous sisters, 
daughters of the tutor of King Edward the Sixth. 
One of her sisters was married to Lord Burleigh, the 
Queen's Prime Minister ; the other became Lady Kil- 
ligrew and was noted for her wit and learning; while 
Lady Bacon, as the wife of the Keeper of the Great 
Seal, was much at court and constantly surrounded 
by splendor and outward greatness. The life at 
York House itself was a stately one and full of court 
manners, and the great end and aim of all the fine 
people who visited Lady Bacon was to be high in 
Court favor. It is necessary for you to remem.ber 
this in thinking of Bacon's strange career; for he, 
was, as a little child, introduced to it all. 

Francis Bacon was born at York House in 1561, 
seven years after Elizabeth came to the throne. He 
was the youngest son of Sir Nicholas and Lady Ba- 
con, and when a mere child showed every sign of pre- 
cocious talent. A beautiful clever bo}?-, full of witty 
speeches quite beyond his years, what wonder his 
mother proudly took him with her to court where he, 
of course, attracted the Queen's attention ? His say- 
ings so amused Her Majesty that she used playfully 
to call him her ''Young Lord-Keeper." Thus as a 
boy Bacon's eyes and ears were filled with court 
splendor and patronage. The Ladies-in-Waiting pet- 
ted and made much of him ; he was allowed to join 




Francis Bacon. 



For Young Readers. 167 

in the great court festivals, to hear the speeches of 
courtiers both in the Queen's presence and behind 
her back. Everything, indeed, was a ceremonial of 
homage to the Queen. A German traveller named 
Hentzner, who wrote about his experiences in Eng- 
land, was much impressed by what he saw at court, 
and the sketch he made of Her Majesty's dinner will 
alone serve to show you the court life of that day. 

"While the Queen was at prayers in the ante- 
chapel, a gentleman entered the room having a rod, 
and along with him another who had a table-cloth, 
which, after they had both knelt three times with the 
utmost veneration, he spread upon the table, and 
after kneeling again they both retired. Then came 
two others, one with the rod again, the other with a 
salt-cellar, a plate, and bread. When they had knelt 
as the others had done and placed what was brought 
upon the table, they also retired with the same cere- 
monials performed by the first. At last came an un- 
married lady, — we were told she was a countess, — 
and along with her a married one bearing a toasting- 
knife ; the former was dressed in white silk, who, 
when she had prostrated herself three times in the 
most graceful manner, approached the table and 
rubbed the plates with bread and salt with as much 
care as if the Queen had been there. 

"When they had waited there a little while the 



1 68 The Story of English Literature 

yeomen of the guard entered, bareheaded, clothed in 
scarlet with a golden rose upon their backs, bringing 
in at each turn a course of twenty-fonr dishes served 
in plate, most of it gilt. These dishes were received 
by a gentleman in the same order they were brought 
and placed upon the table, while the lady taster gave 
to each of the guard a mouthful to eat of the particu- 
lar dish he had brought for fear of any poison. 

*' During the time that this guard were bringing 
dinner twelve trumpets and two kettle-drums made 
the hall ring for half-an-hour together. At the end of 
all this ceremonial, a number of married ladies ap- 
peared who, with particular solemnity, lifted the meat' 
off the table and conveyed it into the Queen's inner 
and more private chamber, when, after she had 
chosen for herself, the rest went to the ladies of the 
court. The Queen dined and supped alone with very 
few attendants, and it was seldom that anybody, na- 
tive or foreigner, was admitted at that time, and then 
only at the intercession of somebody in power." 

It was in life of this kind that young Francis Ba- 
con was educated. At the age of twelve he went to 
college ; at sixteen he traveled upon the Continent, 
and then returned, to enter Gray's Inn as a law stu- 
dent. 

Gray's Inn was a large building not very far from 



For Young Readers. 169 

the Strand, where the students lived and studied. 
They dined together in the great hall, where also 
they used to give masques and grand entertainments 
on festival da3^s. The Inn was built round a court in 
which w^ere (and still are) beautiful gardens, which 
were, in the Sixteenth century, a favorite resort of 
courtiers and men of fashion as w^ell as of the stu- 
dents themselves ; and here Francis Bacon's tall fig- 
ure and grave young face were familiar to all as he 
paced to and fro of a summer's evening under the 
trees. 

Lady Bacon at this time was living in the country 
and used to write anxious letters to her son. Read- 
ing them now you would smile to see how like they 
are, in small ways, to letters of to-day. From 
one we see that Francis has had a severe cold — she 
begs he will wrap up well in woolen clothes if he goes 
out into the gardens. Again she speaks of an herb 
tea, or special drink "better than malt." I wonder if 
the young man paid much heed to all this affectionate 
advice ! The pleasure-seekers in the gardens w^ere 
gorgeously dressed in satins and velvets, and I doubt 
if young Bacon liked to appear beneath the trees in 
heavy garments of wool. 

There came soon an anxious period for the young 
man ; for his father died suddenly and he saw the ne- 



170 The Story of English Literature 

cessity of earning money. Naturally he applied to 
his ^lowerful uncle, Lord Burleigh, for a position at 
court ; but it is supposed that the Prime Minister 
was jealous of his brilliant young nephew, for he 
kept putting off his petitions in spite of the continued 
remonstrances of friends. The old lord lived in 
great state not far from York House, and the Queen 
so honored him that when he was confined to his 
chair with the gout Her Majesty condescended to sit 
with him for an hour at a time. In spite of all this 
he grudged any influence in behalf of his nephew. 

Bacon, however, had made a powerful friend at 
court. This was the Earl of Essex, who stood high 
in the favor of the Queen. From the commence- 
ment of their friendship Essex did all that lay in his 
power to advance Bacon's interests. He not only 
gave him a fine property, but used all his influence 
for him at court. 

Many stories are told of his loyalty to Bacon's in- 
terests. One day he was returning from court in the 
same coach with Burleigh's son. Sir Robert Cecil. 

'• My Lord/' said Sir Robert, " the Queen has de- 
termined to appoint an Attorney General without 
more delay. I pray your lordship to let me know 
whom you will favor." 

" What ! " said Essex, " I wonder at your question. 




The Hall of Gray's Inn. 



For Young Readers. 173 

You cannot but know that, resolutely, against all the 
world, I stand for your cousin, Francis Bacon." 

Cecil was very angry ; but Essex only continued to 
praise and extol his friend's genius and abilities until 
the jealous cousin, from mere shame, was silenced. 

At last Bacon obtained,, through Burleigh's influ- 
ence, the promise of a political office when it should 
fall vacant, and with this in view he entered Parlia- 
ment. There his eloquence must have been marvel- 
ous \ for Ben Jonson said that, in listening to him, 
the only fear in men's minds was that he should leave 
off too soon. 

Bacon kept his attention fixed upon court patron- 
age and the public favor, and tried to steer his way 
adroitly between the two. I fancy those early days 
of his boyhood when the Queen had called him her 
" Young Lord-Keeper " were always in his mind. 
He had two ambitions — high public office and liter- 
ature, — and from the commencement of his life as 
a man he looked to reaching the greatest in both. 

By this time the fortunes of Essex began to darken. 
Your history will tell you how the Queen's favor was 
lost; how Essex was accused of treason. Those 
were strange dark days, when it was hard to appear 
loyal both to his friend and to his queen, yet Bacon's 
part in the affair seems incredible. It is true he tried 



174 The Story of English Literature 

in vain to reconcile Her Majesty to Essex at first, 
and when the Earl was finally put upon trial, every- 
one expected Bacon either to attempt his defense or 
to withdraw from the case. Fancy the astonishment 
and horror of the nation when he actually appeared 
in court against the unhappy Essex ! 

At this distance of time we cannot judge of all the 
circumstances, yet the great fact remains unchanged, 
— Essex had been Bacon's sworn friend; he was on 
trial for his life, and Bacon publicly appeared against 
him. The Earl was executed. It is said he uttered 
few reproaches to his former friend, but the nation' 
was indignant. The Queen was nervous and ill at 
ease after her favorite's death, and commanded Ba- 
con to write an account of his accusations against 
Essex, which he did, thus adding another charge of 
ingratitude to his own account. 

The Queen grew dejected, irritable, unhappy. She 
was ill but refused to admit the fact. She would sit 
bolstered up, near to the arras * of her room, with a 
sword at her side, which she repeatedly thrust into the 
tapestry, fancying murderers were there concealed. 
Her old friends fell off ; those who remained half 
feared the dying Queen whose court had been so 
stately, so learned and yet so dangerous. 

* In fine houses the walls were hung with arras or embroidered cloth. 



For Yoimg Readers. 175 

Shakespeare and Ben Jonson were still living, and 
Bacon's fame was just rising, when, in 1603, after 
some days of hushed whispering horror in the court, 
it was known that Elizabeth was dead. 

When James I. ascended the throne Francis Bacon 
was among the first to be knighted by the king, and 
with his new title he sought in marriage the handsome 
and wealthy daughter of one Alderman Barnham, who 
did not refuse the rising young statesman. 

We must pass over many details of Bacon's public 
life. He attached himself to King James' great fa- 
vorite, Villiers, Duke of Buckingham ; and, it is said, 
used every means to keep the royal favor. One 
honor after another was accorded to him, and in 16 17 
he was made Keeper of the Great Seal. 

Queen Elizabeth's words, uttered in his childhood, 
must have rung in Bacon's ears when they brought 
the news of his appointment to him at York House. 

In the month of May he was to open the courts in 
state, and by early morning all London was up and 
eager with excitement. The procession formed at 
Gray's Inn. Bacon rode forth proudly, dressed in 
the suit he had worn on his wedding-day, — a superb 
violet satin, richly embroidered and ablaze with the 
jeweled chain and ornaments of his rank and honor, 
— on his right was the Lord Treasurer, on his left 



176 The Story of English Literature 

the Privy Seal. They were escorted by the Lords of 
the King's Household, the Lords of the Council, the 
Judges and Sergeants ; and following them a great 
procession of magnificently apparelled gentlemen, — 
dukes and earls, barons and knights. 

As this gorgeous cavalcade passed through the 
streets crowds of people joined in. All who could by 
any chance procure a horse rode one ; banners were 
hung out j the players from Bankside Theatre fol- 
lowed in their finest array. All London seemed to be 
bent upon the one object, and Bacon riding at the 
head, as it were of all the city, watched eagerly and 
curiously. 

At the gates of Westminster Hall the procession 
halted. There Bacon alighted, followed by the train 
of gentlemen and as many as could press forward 
with them. Entering the court he took his seat upon 
the judge's bench. The criers advanced striking the 
ground with their maces ; they commanded silence, 
and Bacon addressed the court. 

But still higher honors were in store for Bacon. 
He was created Chancellor of the Realm and also 
made a peer, with the title of Baron Verulam, Vis- 
count St. Albans. Nevertheless it is as Francis Bacon 
the philosopher he is known to-day. Ben Jonson has 
given us, in rhyme, a picture of the Chancellor's sixti- 




Gray's Inn Gardens. 



For Young Readers. 179 

eth birthday festival at York House when all about 
him, Jonson says, seemed to smile, " the fire, the 
house, the wine." 

Bacon seemed to be at the very summit of pros- 
perity, and having published part of his great book, 
the Novum Orgaitum, he was famous also in the field 
of Literature. 

Turning from public life at London he used to pass 
many happy hours at his country-place, Gorhambury, 
where gardening and literature together amused and 
occupied him. Certain young men of talent were 
invited to pass the summer evenings with him ; and 
while the great statesman and philosopher walked 
about under the trees they accompanied him, discuss- 
ing or noting down what he told them. 

These were Bacon's happiest hours. Had he been 
content with them we might now look only at the 
good and greatness in his life ; but soon after his 
triumphant anniversary at York House, it began to 
be whispered about that there was great corruption 
among the public officers of the Crown, that the 
judges were taking bribes. Who was in the wrong ? 
One name after another was mentioned. Fancy the 
horror of the nation when, first in whispers, then in a 
loud outcry, it was told that Lord Bacon was guilty 
of taking bribes, of corrupting the court. 



i8o The Story of English Literature 

Perhaps at this day we can not judge fairly of Ba- 
con's guilt in the matter. Many writers have tried to 
show that he was slandered \ certain it is that in his 
own time the accusation was brought against him and 
he did not try to defend himself. He was so weak 
and ill when they summoned him to Westminster to 
hear the verdict that he could not move. He had 
written and signed a confession of his crime. The 
lords who were judging him found it hard to believe 
that it was really his own writing, and they sent a 
committee to him to ask if indeed it might be be- 
lieved. 

" My lords," said the unhappy Bacon, "it is my 
act, my hand, my heart. I beseech your lordships 
to be merciful to a broken reed ! " 

The King was merciful ; and indeed no one seemed 
anxious to humiliate the fallen statesman. When the 
sentence of a heavy fine and imprisonment in the 
Tower was pronounced, the King remitted it. Ba- 
con was deprived of his high office, and, broken in 
spirit and ill in health, he retired to Gray's Inn, 
there devoting himself to the life he really loved — 
study and science. 

" My conceit of his person," said Ben Jonson, 
" was never increased towards him by his place or 
honors ; but I have and do reverence him for his 
greatness that was only proper to himself, in that he 



For Young Readers. i8i 

seemed to me ever by his work one of the greatest 
men and most worthy of admiration that had been in 
my eyes. In his adversity I ever prayed God would 
give him strength, for greatness he could not want." 

In the last years of his life Bacon began a work on 
Law and a " History of England under the Tudors," 
besides going on with his philosophical works and 
researches. 

He met his death in making an experiment. He 
desired to try the effect of cold in preventing putre- 
faction in animal matter; and one very cold day, 
when driving in the country near Highgate, he 
stopped at the house of a cottager and bought a 
fowl, which he proceeded to stuff with snow. A sud- 
den chill seized him and he was taken to the house 
of Earl Arundel near by, where he became violently 
ill, and on the morning of Easter day, 3626, breathed 
his last. 

Bacon's genius greatly influenced the literature of 
the age in which he lived and the one following. 
His system of philosophy is known as the " Induc- 
tive Method " of reasoning, and was considered in 
his own day as entirely original. This has been ques- 
tioned by later students ; but there can be no ques- 
of his extraordinary power both as a thinker and a 
writer. 

The amount of his work would form a small library 



1 82 The Story of English Literature 

in itself. The styles are various, and, as a great critic 
has said of him, he put enough thought into one par- 
agraph to make a volume. 

Literature and Philosophy were what Nature had 
fitted him for ; and it is as a writer, not as a states- 
man, we should think of Francis Bacon. 



For Young Readers, 183 



Contemporaries of Bacon. 

Francis Bacon, Baron Verulam, commonly called Lord Ba- 
con, 1561 — 1625. Philosopher and Statesman; wrote several 
books upon Law, a volume of Essays for popular reading, a 
collection of Apothegms, and, in Latin, De Sapie7itia Veteriim 
or "TheWisdom of the Ancients," and his greatest work, In- 
siauratio Magna, " Restoration of the Sciences," which includes 
his famous Novum Orgamtmy or New Scientific Method, etc 

Roger Ascham, 1515 — 1569, Tutor of Queen Elizabeth. 
Wrpte " The Schoolmaster," (on education) and " Toxophilus " 
( on the game of archery.) 

John Napier. 1550 — 1617. Invented the system of 
Logarithms ; wrote " A Plain Discovery of the Whole Revela- 
tion of St. John ; " " Secret Inventions, etc. 

John Stow. 1525 — 1605. Antiquarian: Wrote "Survey 
of London;" "Annals of England;" "Summary of English 
Chronicles. 

Robert Burton. 1576 — 1640. A quaint and learned 
writer; spent nearly his whole life upon one book, his famous 
"Anatomy of Melancholy." 

William Camden. 1551 — 1623. Antiquarian and scholar ; 
wrote " Britannia," (description of Great Britain ; ) " Annals of 
the Reign of Queen Elizabeth," etc. 

Sir Robert Brqce CoiTON. 1570 — 1631. Famous anti- 
quarian writer and collector; founded the " Cottonian Library," 
now preserved in the British Museum. 

John Foxe. 1517 — 1587. " The Martyrologist ;" wrote 
" Foxe's Book of Martyrs." 



184 The Story of English Literature 

John Knox. 1505 — 1572. Scottish Reformer; wrote 
" First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment 
of Women ; " " History of Reformation in Scotland," etc. 

King James I. of England. 1556 — 1625. Wrote "The 
Counterblast to Tobacco," and some trifling poems and prose 
essays. 

Sir Richard Baker. 1568 — 1645. Wrote " Chronicles of 
the Kings of England," also some religious essays, etc. 

John Davis. — 1605 Famous navigator, and discov- 

erer of Davis' Straits ; wrote reports of his travels in several 
volumes, afterwards used in " Hakluyt's Voyages" (which see 
below). 

Captain John Smith. 1579 — 1631. Explorer and founder 
of Virginia, etc. Wrote " Description of New England ;" " The 
General History of Virginia, New England, and the Summer 
Isles ; " " The True Travels, Adventures and Observations of 
Captain John Smith, in Europe, Asia, Africa and America, etc." 

Samuel Purchas. 1577 — 1628. Scholar and compiler; 
wrote " Purchas, His Pilgrimage," and " Purchas's Pilgrims," 
books of travel and exploration, though the writer never trav- 
eled. 

Richard Hakluyt. 1553 — 1616. Clergyman and com- 
piler ; wrote '' Hakluyt's Voyages."' 

Thomas Coryat. 1577 — 1617. Court jester ; also traveler 
on foot through Europe and the East, of which he wrote several 
books. 

George Sandys. 1577 — 1643. Scholar and translator 
also traveled in the East and in America, and wrote of both. 

Sir Thomas Wilson. — 1581. Critic; wrote "Art of 

Logic," and " Art of Rhetoric." 

Sir Henry Savile. 1549 — 1621. Tutor in Mathematics 
and Greek to Queen Elizabeth ; learned scholar and commen- 
tator. 

Sir John Davies. 1570 — 1626. Lord Chief Justice; 
wrote upon law and polities. 



For Young Eeaders. 185 



Lord Edward Herbert. 1551 — 1648. Soldier, States- 
man and Writer ; ( History, Religion and Poetry.) 

Philemon Holland. 1552 — 1636. Noted scholar and 
translator of Latin and Greek classics. 

Lady Annie Bacon. 1528 — 1600. The mother of Fran- 
cis Bacon ; published several translations from Latin and Ital- 
ian authors. 

John Florio. — 1625. Grammarian and translator; 

wrote " Florio, his First Fruits," etc., (Compilation of Italian 
Proverbs,) " Dialogues of Grammar," and a Dictionary in Ital- 
ian and English. 

John Spotisvvood. 1565 — 1639. Wrote "History of 
Church of Scotland." 

Reginald Scott. — 1599- Scholar and recluse ; wrote 

"A Perfect Platform of a Hop Garden," and " Discovery of 
Witchcraft." 

Leonard Digges. — 'i573-^ Mathematician. The son 

grandson and great-grandson of Digges were noted scholars be- 
tween 1573 and 1639 ; they wrote various scientific and political 
works. 

Nicholas Sanders. 1527 — 1580. Robert Parsons. 1546 
— 1610, and Richard Stainhurst, 1545 — 1618, noted Cath- 
olic writers. 

John Aylmer. 1521 — 1594. Richard Hooker. 1553 
— 1600. Noted writers on the Episcopal side. 

Bancroft, Broughton, Field, Rainolds, Milks Smith, 
Abbott, Bilson and Boys were minor writers on religious sub- 
jects during the reigns of Elizabeth, James I. and Charles I. 

Newspapers. In April, 1588, when England was threatened by 
the Spanish Armada, a series of Gazettes orBulletins was printed 
by order of Queen Elizabeth, to keep her subjects informed as 
to the movements of the fleet ; these were published only occa- 
sionally ; but in the reign of James I. the news of Europe be- 
gan to be collected and printed systematically, and a regular 
weekly paper called The Certain News of this Present Week, 



1 86 The Story of English Literature 

was established in 1622, when the Thirty Years' War, and the 
exploits of Gustavus Adolphus agitated Europe. During the 
English Civil War (1642 — 1649), ^^^h army had its printer and 
published a newspaper. Many private newspapers were started 
at the same time in England, and from that day the press has 
been an established necessity. 

Translations of the Bible. 

The first translation of the Bible into English was by Wyc- 
liffe, whose work was completed in 1382. Printing was not then 
known, and Wycliffe's Bible circulated in manuscript copies. 
William Tyndale, or Tyndal, translated the New Testament, and 
the Pentateuch and the Historical books of the Old Testament in 
1480 — 1536; the first printed copy of his work appeared in 
I525. Various versions of the Scripture were brought out be- 
fore the one known as " King James' Version," which is com- 
monly used by Protestants of to-day. This was made in 161 1, 
by order of James I. The Catholic translation of the Scripture 
is known as the Rheims-Douay version, or Douay Bible, being 
made at Rheims, in France, during the reign of Queen Elizabeth, 
in 1582. 

The Book of Common Prayer was compiled during the i6th 
century, chiefly from a very old prayer-book known as The 
Prymer. 



For Young Readers. 187 



VII. 

JOHN MILTON AND JOHN* BITNYAN. 

Milton's birthplace — Early Puritan influences — School days at 
St. Paul's — Music over the Scrivener's shop — " The Lady " at 
Cambridge University — Life at Horton — Origin of the 
Masque of Comus — Travels in France and Italy — V Allegro 
zxid II Fenseroso — Milton's "garden house " and pupils at 
Aldersgate — His first marriage — Political troubles — Mil- 
ton's reply to the King's pamphlet — Execution of Charles I. 
and triumph of the Roundheads — Milton becomes Foreign 
Secretary to the Commonwealth — Failure of his eyesight 
Andrew Marvell his secretary — Death of Milton's wife and 
son — His total blindness — Marriage and death of his second 
wife — The Quaker's prophecy — Death and funeral of Oliver 
Cromwell — Restoration of Charles II., and peril of Milton — 
Publication of Paradise Lost and its cool reception — Milton's 
third marriage and last days at Bunhill Fields — Fate of 
daughter and descendants. 

GOING down Cheapside, in London, the other 
day, I entered a certain narrow street which 
crosses the great thoroughfare ; it is now given up to 
warehouses, but standing there I could hear the sound 
of *' Bow-bells," which have rung at the church of St. 



1 88 The Story of English Literature 

Mary-le-Bow, near by, for centuries. The old church 
is being repaired at present, and men were coming and 
going to the work, passing through Bread street, where 
we stood under the shadow of one of the tall gloomy 
warehouses. 

It was difficult to realize that in this very street, in 
a dark, quaint, old house, on the 9th of December 
1608, John Milton, the author of Paradise Lost 
was born. 

The passer-by in those days (in the reign of James 
I) saw by a sign over the door that the profession of 
the elder Milton was that of scrivener, or one who 
drew up legal papers and placed money at interest. 
He was a man of learning, but his nature was rather 
narrow and gloomy, and to give you an idea of what 
he was I must tell you of a great moral change which 
swept over England about this time, affecting a large 
class of people, and the father of John Milton among 
the number. 

You remember that during Queen Elizabeth's reign 
efforts were made to put down the theatres. They 
did not entirely succeed, but still a large part of the 
nation objected to everything like theatrical display, 
and complained also of the extravagance at court, and 
of the growing wickedness and frivolity of all classes. 
By the time James I. came to the throne this love of 



For Young Readers. 189 

display and dissipation had greatly increased among 
the masses, and as I told you, even Shakespeare felt 
saddened by it. 

Now whenever part of a nation believes there is a 
necessity for reform in any class, some extreme is sure 
to follow. The generation who were young at the 
time of Shakespeare's death were often preached to 
and talked at by those who held that all finery was 
sinful vanity, and all lightness of manner or speech 
ought to be condemned. We must not go into the 
religious side of this, for we are only tracing the liter- 
ary part of England's history, and the influences which 
affected it. 

The grave spirit of reform I speak of, grew up 
chiefly among the country people ; and certain influ- 
ential noblemen encouraged it, horrified, no doubt, 
by the wickedness at court, where, indeed, morality 
was a thing long forgotten. Preachers began to go 
about stirring up the people, who listened eagerly, 
and many believed that the wrath of God was about 
to descend upon the nation. Being for the most 
part unable to read, they thoroughly enjoyed the ser- 
mons which were now preached in the open fields, 
on the highways and by-ways, anywhere, indeed, 
where an audience could be gathered. Instead of 
the inn-yard plays they now had the travelling 



190 



The Story of English Literature ^ 



preacher, who in loud and piercing tones would cry- 
out to them that they were on the high road to Per- 



dition that 



lisfht 



every ..^. 
word spoken was sin, 
every bit of finery sug- 
gested by the Devil. You 
can fancy how much all 
this would influence a 
people dependent so 
much more upon outward 
impressions than we are 
to-day. The very chil- 
dren were sometimes in- 
terrupted in their games 
by preachers who told 
them of the dreadful tor- 
ments sure to follow upon 
such levity. 
The Puritans, as these reformers were called, 
dressed with extreme simplicity, and met only for grave 
or religious discourse, shunning all manner of gaiety. 
In their homes they avoided decorative furniture, and 
bright colors, or graceful curves. They lived simple 
lives, earnest, no doubt, and full of religious obser- 
vences, but rather gloomy and severe for the young 
people growing up around them. 




St. Mary le Bow, Cheapside. 



For Young Readers. 191 

Of course all this met with opposition from the still 
large class of people devoted to the old ways of 
thinking, and you remember how a devoted band of 
Puritans sailed away in the " Mayflower " and founded 
the famous colony of New England, in 1620. Your 
history tells you, too, how strong the Puritan element 
became, a few years later, when Charles I. was be- 
headed and Cromwell governed England. Indeed so 
strongly were politics and literature associated at that 
time that most of the famous writers of the day were 
known also as either " Roundheads " or " Cavaliers." 

Milton's father, as I have said, was a Puritan in 
spirit if not by profession, and throughout the long 
life of the poet we may trace the effect of these Puri- 
tan influences of his childhood. 

He was sent at an early age to St. Paul's school, 
which stood then, as now, in the rear of the great 
cathedral, a few steps distant from his father's house ; 
and in these daily walks it is quite probable that the 
school-boy sometimes saw Shakespeare and Ben 
Jonson on their way to those famous " wit combats " 
at the Mermaid tavern in Bread street. At school 
Milton studied Latin, Greek and Hebrew, and finally 
added Italian to the ordinary studies, in all of which 
he excelled. 

I have said that the home influences of his child- 



192 



The Stoi-y of English Literature 



hood were of a gloomy kind, but there was one bright 
and cheerful element in the solemn household in 
Bread street — Milton's father loved music ; he had 
composed a great deal, for that day, and was a skillful 
performer on the organ and bass-viol. Young Milton 
learned them of his father, and the two passed many 
happy hours in the " sweet harmonies of sound '*' 
which Milton loved all his life. Above the scriven- 
er's shop was a room devoted to various domestic 
uses : there the father and son shared their music, 
and perhaps to this tuneful side of his boyhood he 




St. Paul's School. 



owed his first impulses to write verses. He must 
have begun very young, but his real fame came late 
in life. 



For Young Readers. 193 

In 1625 he was sent to Cambridge University, 
where his extreme beauty of person attracted imme- 
diate attention, and the students dubbed him " the 
lady." He must have been marvelously handsome 
at this time. He never lost a certain beauty, both of 
feature and expression, but in his early years he was 
more like a picture of beautiful, gentle youth, than 
its reality. He was tall and finely made, though 
slender, with a fair complexion, perfect regularity of 
feature, and light brown hair parted in the centre and 
falling to his shoulders, according to the fashion of 
the day. His dress was simple, of black velvet with 
the broad linen collar, and upturned w^'istbands of 
the period. He was soon known at college for his 
verses. Of his short pieces written at this time, one 
was on Shakespeare, with whose works, then recently 
published in book form, he was very familiar. Among 
his other pieces were : "At a Solemn Music," " On the 
Morning of Christ's Nativity," etc., all showing the 
extreme delicacy and refinement of Milton's mind. 

Indeed he is a striking figure when we look at the 
University of those days. Most of the students led 
rollicking, lawless, self-indulgent lives. Milton, with 
his gentle, pensive countenance, his grave demeanor, 
and his growing genius, seems to stand apart j does he 
not ? When he left Cambridge, he says himself, he 



194 



The Story of English Literature 



was "free from all reproach, and approved by all 
honest men." 







John Milton. 

Meanwhile the elder Milton had left Bread street 
and gone to live at Horton, a pretty country place in 
Buckinghampshire, surrounded by wide green mead- 



For Young Readers. 195 

ows and rolling hills, with every variety of wild flower 
blooming in the hedgerows and fields. All this de- 
lighted young Milton, and he soon found congenial 
society in the neighborhood. Ludlow castle, the res- 
idence of the Earl of Bridgewater, was near by, and 
not only was the family of the Earl a pleasant one, but 
Henry Lavves, the musician, taught music in the 
household, and came frequentl}^, as a guest, to Mil- 
ton's house. On one such occasion he told them of 
an accident which had happened to the young people 
of the Earl's family : while passing through Haywood 
forest on their way home. Lady Alice and her broth- 
er were benighted, and the young lady was for some 
time lost in the wood. This incident suggested to 
Milton his masque of Comus. He wrote the poetry, 
Lawes composed the music, and the Earl had it per- 
formed at the castle, the young people themselves 
taking part. 

Soon after this Milton travelled on the continent. 
In Florence and other Italian cities the young English 
poet was received with delight. His beaut}^ the ele- 
gance of his manners and conversation, were every- 
where talked about, and his society was eagerly 
sought. He showed some of his poems to certain 
men of learning who pronounced them works of 
great genius. It is supposed that at this time he 



196 The Story of English Literature 

wrote L Allegro and // Fenseroso, two poems intended 
to represent y^j^and Sadness, and containing some of 
his most beautiful tlioughts. 

All his life Milton looked back to those days in 
Italy with much happiness, yet he was too thoroughly 
English at heart to remain long in foreign courts, 
splendid and hospitable as they might be, and re- 
turning home he spent some years as a student at the 
University. We find him next in a "pretty garden 
house " of his own, at Aldersgate, in London, where 
he received a few pupils, his two nephews and some 
others, and about the same time he married a Miss 
Powell, a girl of seventeen, belonging to a Cavalier 
family. The strictness of Milton's household, and 
his stern views of life, irritated the young wife, accus- 
tomed to a country home where gaiety and light- 
heartedness reigned. She quarrelled with her hus- 
band, and he with her, and she finally returned to 
her father; but later she was reconciled to Milton, 
and seems to have made him a good and dutiful wife. 

These were stormy times in England. " Round- 
heads " and " Cavaliers " began to be well known 
and among them, of course, the writers of the day 
were conspicuous. Milton very openly declared him- 
self against the Royalists' cause, and used all his 
powers as a writer to further the liberties of his 
countrymen. 



For Young Readers. 197 

In 1649, as your history tells you, the King as- 
cended the scaffold at Whitehall, uttering that one 
word, " Remember," which no one has ever under- 
stood or forgotten. The Commonwealth began. 
Cromwell established himself in Whitehall Palace, in 
the King's old apartments, and here his councils met. 
By this time !\Iilton had made himself famous all 
over Europe, by answering a pamphlet called Eikon 
Basilike, [" The Royal Image,"] which had been writ- 
ten in defence of Charles I., many thought by the 
King himself, but in reality by a Doctor Landen. 

Milton was at once recognized as a Republican and 
a Puritan, and he was made Foreign Secretary to the 
Council. Much of his time was now spent at White- 
hall, where Dryden, the poet, then a young man. 
Waller, and many gifted men used to come to- 
gether, and we are told thev sometimes indulsied in a 
little organ music, the only amusement the Protector 
encouraged. Life was rather narrow and severe in 
those days ; the houses were stately enough, but the 
revels of the Sixteenth century were not known. 

Not long ago I walked through one of Cromwell's 
houses and saw its oak wainscotted walls and ceilings, 
its carved stair cases, and its innumerable small 
rooms, opening one into the other, all indicating that 
in the Seventeenth century comfort in household 
matters was not neglected. The ceilings were richly 



198 The Story of English Literature 

carved, in spite of Puritan severity, and the walls 
were hung with rich old tapestries. The famous Hol- 
land House was built at this time. In its gardens 
Cromwell used to walk and confer with his council- 
lors ; and at a house near London, a large, beautiful 
brick mansion, his daughter lived ; and a room is still 
shown there where Cromwell held secret conclaves. 

Milton, we may presume, often attended these, for 
he was highly honored by the Protector, and was cer- 
tainly devoted to his cause. 

In 1650 Milton's eyesight began to fail, and an as- 
sistant named Andrew Marvell was engaged for him. 
Later the same Marvell became well known as a poet. 
His home was a pretty cottage at Highgate, which 
exists to this day, and it is said there was a secret 
passage connecting it with Cromwell House, where 
Treton and his wife (Cromwell's daughter) resided. 

Meanwhile Milton had removed to a pleasant house 
in York street (now No. 19,) where he spent some 
years. It was here that he lost his infant son by 
death, and, two years later, his wife. He was left 
with three little girls, the eldest of whom was ten. 
His incessant literary work increased the trouble with 
his eyes, until, in 1654, total blindness fell upon him. 
Soon after this he married and brought a cheerful in- 
fluence into his sad little household, but the new wife 



For Young Eeaders. 199 

soon died, and other troubles were beginning for the 
poet. 

Cromwell had been sick for months, an intermit- 
tent fever hanging upon him. Andrew Marvell, often 
near him, noted how he fought it off, and George Fox, 
a famous leader in the new sect of Quakers, tells how 
he met the Protector riding one day from Hampton 
Court, trying to look well, but a waft of death seemed 
to reach him. You have all heard how the Quaker's 
prophecy was fulfilled, when, on the 3d of September, 
1668, after a storm which tore roofs from houses, and 
levelled huge trees in every forest, Oliver Cromwell 
breathed his last. 

There were two men at court at that time who kept 
diaries which have since been published, and become 
famed books. These were John Evelyn and Samuel 
Pepys. Evelyn gives in his diar}'' an account of the 
funeral of the Protector, who, in spite of the severe 
simplicity of his life, was buried with almost regal 
honors. " He was carried," says Evelyn, " in a vel- 
vet bed of state drawn by six horses, housed by the 
same ; the pall held up by his new lords ; Oliver 
lying in effigie in royal robes, and crowned with a 
crown, sceptre and globe, like a King. The pen- 
dants and guidons were carried by the officers of the 
army 3 and the imperial banner achievement, etc., by 



200 The Story of English Literature 

the heralds in their coats ; a rich compareason'd 
horse, embroidered all over with gold ; a knight of 
honor armed cap-a-pie, and after all, his guards, 
soldiers, and innumerable mourners. In this equip- 
age they proceeded to Westminster ; biit it was the 
joyfulest funeral I ever saw, for there were none that 
cried but dogs, which the soldiers hooted away with a 
barbarous noise, drinking and taking tobacco in the 
streets as they went." 

Up to this time Milton had continued to perform 
his duties as Secretary, at Whitehall, aided by Mar- 
veil ; but when Cromwell died and the new King, 
Charles II., ascended the throne, in 1660, the poet's 
life was in the greatest danger ; his printed reply to the 
Eikon JBasilikev^d,?, publicly burnt by the common hang- 
man, and he was thrown into prison. Through the influ- 
ence of Sir William Davenant, whom he had once 
befriended, a pardon was obtained from the King, but 
from this time Milton's life was no longer prosperous. 
He lost most of his fortune, his house was burned in 
the great fire of London, and in his declining years he 
had to bear with blindness, povert}^, and domestic 
discord. 

He now turned all his attention to literature. In 
1658 he had begun to write his famous work, Paradise 
Lostj upon which he now continued to labor. It was 



For Young Readers. 201 

hot published until 1667, and in the British Museum 
you can see, to-day, a copy of the agreement between 
Milton and his pubhsher made in that year. Twenty 
pounds (about one hundred dollars) was all that he 
or his family ever received for the copyright ; and in 
eleven years from the date of its publication three 
thousand copies had been sold. It is said that when 
three book-sellers near St. Dunstans Ivdd Paradise Lost 
for sale, it lay for months unnoticed, and but for the 
accident of a nobleman of learning recommending it 
to his friends, it would have been unread by all that 
generation ; but this may not have been the case, for 
comparatively few people, at that time, ever purchased 
books. In the forty-two years between the publica- 
tion of Shakespeare's works and Paradise Lost, only 
one thousand copies of Shakespeare were sold ; so 
that Milton was not, as many critics declare, specially 
slighted. The poem was at first objected to, be- 
cause it was written in blank verse and rhyme was 
preferred. Much discussion followed its publication ; 
however, before a century had passed away, it was es- 
tablished as one of the greatest works of genius the 
world had ever known. 

Milton had finished Paradise Lost m a little cottage 
at Chalfont; but later he established himself in a 
small home near Bunhill Fields. He had married a 



202 The Story of English Literature 

third time, by the advice of friends who felt that his 
household needed a mother's care. But the marriage 
was not a happy one, though the poet seems to have 
lived contented enough with his fate. Many younger 
men of the day came to him to read and converse. 
One of these, John Elwood, has left us an account of 
his visits, from which I will quote : 

" He received me courteously, as well for the sake 
of Dr. Paget, who introduced me, as of Isaac Pen- 
nington, who recommended me, to both of whom he 
bore a good respect; and having inquired divers 
things of me with respect to my former progressions 
in learning, he dismissed me, to provide myself of 
such accommodation as might be most suitable to ray 
future studies. I went, therefore and took myself a 
lodging as near to his house as conveniently I could ; 
and from thence forwards went every day in the after- 
noon (except on the first day of the week) and sitting 
by him in his dining-room, read to him such books in 
the Latin tongue as he pleased to hear me read. * * 
• • • After some common discourses had passed 
between us, he called for a manuscript of his, which 
being brought, he delivered to me, bidding me take it 
home with me and read it at my leisure, and when I 
had so done, return it to him with my judgement 
thereupon. When I came home, and had set myself 



For Young Readers. 203 

to read it. I found it was that excellent poem which 
he entitled Faradise Lost. After I had with the ut- 
most attention read it through, I made him another 
visit and returned him his book, witli due acknowl- 
edgment for the favor he had done me in communica- 
ting it to me. He asked me how I liked it, and what 
I thought of it, which I modestly but freely told him j 
and after some further discourse about it, I pleasant- 
ly said to him j ' Thou hast said much here of Fara- 
dise Lost^Ml what hast thou to say of Paradise Found ? 
He made me no answer, but sat sometime in a muse ; 
then brake off that discourse and fell upon another 
subject;" This suggestion of Elwood's induced 
Milton to write a sort of sequel to Faradise Lost, en- 
titled Faradise Regaified. Later still he wrote Sam- 
son Agonistes^ and the two were published together in 
1671. 

We know from records just how Milton spent his 
time during his last days. Early in the morning a 
chapter of the Bible was read to him, in Hebrew, after 
which he remained an hour in meditation. He then 
studied, with the help of his daughters or friends, un- 
til mid-day. After an hour's exercise he played upon 
the organ or bass-viol, studied again until six, and in 
the evening friends came to him informally. His 
daughter Deborah said that his conversation was 



204 The Story of English Literature 

charming, and in spite of many stories of his harsh- 
ness and severity, of his children's gloomy withdrawal 
from him, we think he must have possessed many 
qualities which strongly endeared him to his friends ; 
for, in that careless age, many sought the blind poet's 
society. His visitors found him seated in his arm- 
chair, in a pleasant room hung in old green drapery \ 
his organ and bass-viol were near him ; his papers, 
books and writing materials were close at hand j he 
dressed always in black, and, it is said, retained much 
of the beauty which had made him celebrated in his 
college days at Cambridge, fifty years before. He 
was pale and delicate in feature still, his eyes bright 
and handsome, showing no sign of their blindness. 
His mind was perfectly clear to the very last, and we 
may think of him as calm and serene, when, without 
any pain or suffering, on Sunday the 8th of Novem- 
ber, 1674, his life ended. 

Milton's third marriage had not made his home hap- 
py for his daughters. Deborah, who was her father's 
favorite, was finally obliged to leave home ; she went 
with a friend to Ireland and was afterwards married 
to a Mr. Clarke, and had a family of ten children. 
Mary Milton never married ; and Anne, who had a 
beautiful face, but was slightly deformed, married and 
died soon afterwards. There are none of the poet's 



For Young Readers. 205 

descendants now known to be living. Many years 
ago, in the neighborhood of those very Bow-Bells that 
ring near Bread street, there lived an old lady who 
claimed to be Mrs. Clarke's great-grand-daughter. A 
small circle often gathered about her quiet fireside 
and talked, I don't doubt, of the days when the 
scrivener's sign swung over Milton's doorway near by, 
and the beautiful boy used to walk past on his way to 
school. But this obscure descendant has also passed 
away, and, as I told you, there is little left unchanged 
in Milton's neighborhood but the merry clanging 
sounds from the quaint old steeple of St. Mary-le- 
Bow. 

Milton's famous works are the following^ arranged 
according to their merits : Paradise Lost, Samson 
Agonisfes, L^ Allegro, II Penseroso, Paradise Regained. 

Milton is called the " last of the Elizabethans, " be- 
cause he was the. friend and associate of many illus- 
trious men belonging to Elizabeth's period. His 
style, however, differs greatly from that of all the 
minor poets belonging to the same era. His verse is 
majestic and flowing, free from those exaggerations 
and fine-sounding phrases which Euphues made the 
fashion ; as full of imagination as that of Spenser, 
but still strongly influenced by Puritanism. Paradise 
Lost is in nine books, and was originally intended for 



2o6 The Story of English Literature 

a Drama. Some outlines of this first idea are still to 
be seen at the University of Cambridge. The poem 
opens with a description of the Fallen Angels in Hell, 
who resolve with their master, Satan, to war against 
God, by tempting Adam to sin. Satan flies to earth, 
discovers Eden, which is described with Adam and 
Eve in their innocence. 

*' So on he fares, and to the border comes 

Of Eden, where delicious Paradise, 

Now nearer, crowns with her inclosure green, 

As with a rural mound, the champaign head 

Of a steep wilderness, whose liairy sides 

With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild, 

Access denied ; and overhead upgrew 

Insuperable height of loftiest shade, 

A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend. 

Shade above shade, a woody theatre of stateliest view. 

The four books following this contains the story of 
the war in Heaven, told by the Archangel Gabriel ; a 
description of Satan's fall and the creating of the 
world. The last four books describe the Temptation 
and Fall of Man ; Adam's vision of the Future, with 
the Redemption of Man by Christ j and finally the 
Expulsion from Paradise. Paradise Lost is always to 
be associated with the rise and failure of Puritanism 
in England, and many think Milton's idea in his great 
poem was to illustrate his own country and people as 
he knew them. 



For Young headers. 207 

In Paradise Lost there was a tendency towards 
what is called a labored style, and when Milton wrote 
Paradise Regained^ this defect was increased. The 
last named poem lacks the grace of Paradise Lost, and 
has never been considered in any way its equal. 

Samsoft Agonistes has special reference to Milton's 
blind old age, and shows great power and pathos. 

We must now glance briefly at some other writers 
who were famous in Milton's day. Had you asked 
any student in 1674, whose poems were most admired 
in England, he would undoubtedly have answered, 
•'Cowley's and Waller's," for at that date Abraham 
Cowley and Edmund Wallers were regarded as the 
great geniuses of the age. Cowley was born in 16 18, 
and died in 1667. He attached himself to the Roy- 
alist cause, but when the Stuarts were restored to the 
throne he was not sufficiently rewarded for his services, 
and his last years were clouded and unhappy. Cow- 
ley's verses had much of the exaggeration of the 
Elizabethan age, but his prose was more dignified and 
natural. A generation later, Alexander Pope wrote 
of him : 

" Who now reads Cowley ? If he pleases yet, 
His moral pleases, not his pointed wit : 
Forget his epic, nay, Pindaric art, 
But still I love the language of his heart." 



2o8 The Story of E?igUs7i Literature 

Waller, like Cowle}', wrote in an overstrained, fan- 
ciful style, and at present only a few of his verses are 
considered worth preserving. He belonged, at differ- 
ent times, to the Royalist and Commonwealth parties, 
and wrote a panegyric on '^ My Lord Protector,'' when 
Cromwell was in power, and an ode to King Charles, 
after the Restoration. Many of his verses are ad- 
dressed to Lady Dorothy Sidney, whom he calls 
" Sacharissa," and among them are some pretty tender 
lines. 

Robert Herrick was also known as one of the 
" Cavalier poets," but, while he wrote many exquis- 
ite verses, he degraded his genius by a coarseness 
and vulgarity which even his own age condemned. 

One of the saddest lives and one of the kindest, was 
that of Sir John Suckling, a Cavalier poet, born in 
1608, who after various efforts on behalf of the King, 
died in Paris, in 1642, in great want and loneliness. 
Suckling's well known " Ballad on a Wedding " is often 
quoted to-day, especially the following lines : 

" Her feet beneath her petticoat, 
Like little mice, stole in and out, 
As if they feared the light." 

Of all the Cavalier poets, the figure of Richard 
Lovelace is perhaps the most interesting, for we have 
descriptions of him in his early days at the court of 
King Charles I., *' the most amiable and beautiful 



For Yotmg Readers. 209 

youth that eye ever beheld " — " admired and adored," 
Anthony Wood tells us, " and honest, virtuous and 
courtly in his deportment." Poor Lovelace, while 
Milton was defending Puritanism, occupied himself 
defending Royalty, and suffered every manner of pri- 
vation and disappointment. He was betrothed to 
Lucy Sackervell, the Lucretia of his verses ; but as he 
was reported killed in the battle at Dunkirk, the 
lady's relations compelled her to marry, and poor 
Lovelace returned to England, to break his heart and 
die in obscurity and poverty. He had been in his 3'Outh 
noted for the splendor of his dress, which " suited 
the fairness of his beauty : " but in those last sad 
years he wore clothing " befitting the poorest of ser- 
vants." He died two years before the restoration of 
King Charles. 

The extremes of Puritanism were naturally ridi- 
culed by the Royalists, and a famous satire upon the 
Puritans was written by Samuel Butler and entitled 
Hudibras. It is still considered one of the best 
satires in the English language, though rather crowded 
with exaggerations, and containing much that is pure- 
ly. nonsensical. Poor Butler's life was sad enough; 
he was slighted by the people he had supported, and 
died in a mean London street, poor and lonely, in 
1680, at the age of sixty-eight. 

Another famous Royalist and poet was Sir William 



2IO The Story of English Literature 

Davenant, (1605 — 1668) to whose protection, at one 
time, Milton owed his life, as I have already told you. 

Thomas Carew (1589 — 1639) was one of the gay- 
est poets and courtiers of Charles I., and wrote some 
of the most graceful verses of that very verse-making 
day. 

About the same time one of the first female poets 
in English literature became known — Margaret 
Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle, who died in 1673, 
and of whom Dr. Johnson -said, " she had a great deal 
of wit," and Horace Walpole said, " a fertile pedant 
with a passion for scribbling." 

Among the specially known writers of the era end- 
ing with Milton's death, are John Bunyan, author of 
The Pilgrim's Progress, and Jeremy Taylor, a noted 
preacher and scholar, the author of Holy Living and 
Holy Dying, and many other works of a religious 
character. 

Jeremy Taylor was one of the religious writers who 
adhered to the Church of England. He was born in 
1613, the son of a barber at Cambridge ; he was a 
staunch Royalist, and suffered imprisonment on this 
account in Cromwell's time, but on the restoration of 
Charles II. he was treated with every honor and dis- 
tinction. He was noted in his own day chiefly for his 
eloquence as a preacher. 



For Young Readers. 211 

John Bunyan was the son of a poor tinker, and was 
born at Elton, in Bedfordshire, in the year 1625. He 




John Bunyan. 
[ Drawn from life by T. Sadler, 1685 — Fac simile of the old print. ] 

has himself given an account of his life, and we can 
fancy him, a rude uneducated boy, playing about the 
village, reckless and profane, as he says, yet haunted 



212 The Story of English Literature 

by the words of the preachers. When he was but ten 
years of age he began to be tormented by rehgious 
doubts and fears ; as he grew older these questions 
vexed and disgusted him more and more. He 
hated sin, he tells us, dreaded and feared eternal 
punishment, yet continued in a careless mode of life. 
Certain verses and striking passages of Scripture 
were always ringing in his ears ; the Puritan influ- 
ences of the time affected him strongly, but he did 
not join any of the various sects until his thirtieth 
year. Many writers have spoken of his life before 
this time as if it had been a wicked one ; but that 
could hardly have been the case. Bunyan, in writing 
of himself, exaggerated his misdeeds, and yet there 
seems to have been x\o vice but that of profanity 
among them ; this he gave up suddenly, and with ter- 
rible remorse. 

He married early in life, as he tells us, a good wo- 
man, who was the child of godly parents. When 
they were married, Bunyan says, they had not so 
much as a fork or a sjDOon between them, but the 
wife possessed two religious books, or tracts, and 
these Bunyan read eagerly. After serving as a sol- 
dier and leading a life full of religious doubts and 
torments, Bunyan was finally baptised and became a 
member of a Baptist congregation — this was in 1655, 



For Young Readers. 215 

while Cromwell was still governing England, and one 
year after Milton's blindness fell upon him. Bunyan 
now became a preacher and went about the country 
assembling congregations, exhorting and preaching 
Calvinistic doctrines with wonderful fervor, until 
Charles II. came to the throne, when such preaching 
was declared unlawful, and Bunyan, persisting in it, 
was seized and cast into Bedford jail, where he re- 
mained more than twelve years. While there he sup- 
ported his family by making lace, and occupied his 
leisure hours in writing. It was during this time he 
composed his famous diWegory /The Filgri7n's Progress. 
Meanwhile James II. came to the throne and a pro- 
clamation of "liberty of conscience " finally released 
Bunyan from jail and permitted him to go about 
preaching as before. A meeting-house was built for 
him at Bedford, where he continued to preach, occa- 
sionally visiting London and preaching to the " Non- 
Conformists " as his people were called. In 1688 a 
terrible fever raged in London, and Bunyan was one 
of its first victims. He died in his sixty-first year. 

Bunyan left many religious works, but he will al- 
ways be known as the author of The Pilgrim's 
Progress. His severe religious views naturally made 
him intolerant and prejudiced against those of others, 
and in his allegory he is frequently unjust to people 



2i6 The Story of English Literature 

differing from himself in faith, but the work is won- 
derful from a literary point of view. The names of 
the characters in the book are familiar to everybody 
at the present day, and there is a reality about it all 
which we find in no other allegory that ever was 
written : " Christian," " Apollyon," " the House 
Beautiful," and "the Valley of the Shadow," are 
used as types by every writer in the civilized world. 

Extract from the Pilgrim's Progress. 
Christian and the Pilgrims have reached the Celes- 
tial City, and Bunyan relates his dream of what they saw: 

" The talk that they had with the Shining Ones was about the 
glory of the place. * * • You are going now, said they, to 
the Paradise of God wherein you shall see the tree of life, and 
eat of the never fading fruits thereof ; and when you come 
there, you shall have white robes given you, and yoar walk and 
talk shall be every day with the King, even all the days of 
eternity. 

There came out also, at this time, to meet them, several of the 
King's Trumpeters, clothed in white and shining raiment, who 
with melodious noises and loud, made even the heavens to echo 
with their sound. • • • And now were these two men as 
'twere in Heaven before they came at it ; being swallowed up 
with the sight of Angels and with hearing of their melodious 
notes. Here also, tliey had the city itself in view, and they 
thought they heard all the bells therein ring to welcome them 
thereto. But above all, the warm and joyful thoughts they bad 
about their own dwelling there with such company, and that 
forever and ever. Oh, by what tongue or pen can their glorious 
joy be expressed t "* 
♦Pilgrim's Progress. Part I. 



For Young Readers. 217 



VIII. 

JOHN DRYDEN AND HIS TIMES. 

A glance at the court of Charles II., the sports and pastimes — 
Revival of the theatre — John Dryden — Early Puritan im- 
pressions — Education at Westminster and Cambridge — 
Death of his father — Visit to his uncle, Sir John Driden — 
Rejection by his cousin Honor — Dryden at the court of Oli- 
ver Cromwell — His famous tribute to Cromwell's memory — 
His greeting to the restored King — A morning stroll with the 
King and his favorites — Coarseness of the Drama and Litera- 
ture under Charles 11. — Dryden writes a play — Visit to the 
Earl of Berks — Marriage with Lady Elizabeth Howard — 
Dryden attacked by ruffians — The King suggests a poem — 
Last days and shocking death-scene of Charles II. — Dryden 
becomes Poet- Laureate under James II., and loses the honor 
under William and Mary — The poet's home in Gerrard 
Street — Famous evenings at " Will's coffee-house " — Intro- 
duction of "lampooning" — Dryden and Jacob Tonson, the 
publisher — The Ode to St. Cecilia, and Alexander"* s Feast — 
Impurity of the Drama — Dryden's scruples and repentance — 
His last days. 

ON the restoration of Charles II., Puritanism 
seemed quite forgotten. In fact, the English 
people had begun to tire of the severities of Crom- 
well's day even before the Protector's death, and 



2i8 The Story of English Literature 

among many, this extreme outward rigor had become 
the cloak for much that was irreUgious and profane. 
The court of Charles set the fashion of recklessness 
profanity, and splendor. The prim garb of the Pu- 
ritans was set aside and, in its place, the most luxu- 
rious silks and satins, laces and jewels, plumes, hoops, 
and high-heeled boots came into vogue. The gloomy 
austerities of Cromwell's day naturally produced an 
extreme under a new ruler. 

Charles was called the " Merry Monarch," and, 
from all accounts given us of high life in his day, the 
title was not undeserved. 

As the court set the fashion for the upper classes, 
the daily routine of the King and his gentlemen may 
be taken as a sample of the manner in which the 
wealthier people of the time passed their lives. 

In the morning, it was fashionable to ride on horse- 
back in the Park or to walk in the Mall, — a portion 
of St. James Park not far from the palace, where a 
game called " Mall " was played by all the court and 
nobles and gentlemen ; hence the name. Later in 
the day the Mall was again crowded. Refreshments 
were served under the trees ; people sat about in 
groups, or walked up and down in the shaded walks 
talking together. Fops, belles, men of learning, 
poets and dramatists, all frequented the Mall, and 
later, the same company might be found at the thea- 



For Young Eeaders. 221 

tres j for, of course, under Charles II. the theatres 
were re-opened. 

The evenings were usually devoted to dancing and 
gambling — two pastimes in which Charles and his 
court excelled, — and the revels were prolonged until 
a late hour ; while wickedness, or at least careless- 
ness, was seen on every side. 

When Sunday came the fashionable people of the 
day openly yawned and fell asleep, or chatted and 
laughed during the service ; and the clergy were apt 
to make their discourses as gratifying as possible to 
the King and his comrades, and to overlook the vices 
and follies of the day. It is not a pleasing picture. 
Evelyn and Pepys, the two diarists of whom you have 
heard already, have given various accounts of these 
days, and it hardly seems to have been an encourag- 
ing time for literature. 

In all the court the poor foreign Queen, alone, is an 
exception to the general frivolity. Simple, honest, 
unobtrusive in her mode of life, with a calm piety, 
she seems to have thought it useless to interfere with 
the life around her. Perhaps a woman of stronger 
will would have done more; but Catherine of Bra- 
ganza came a stranger into England on her marriage, 
not speaking the language, and certainly not under- 
standing the people. 

After a slight effort at remedying the evils she 



222 The Story of English Literature 

found at court, she seems to have slipped into a cor- 
ner to live her own dull harmless life. Only when 
the King was dying we learn how passionate her 
grief was, so uncontrollable, indeed, that the physi- 
cians feared it would kill her \ and from this, we see 
that all those silent years poor Catherine, neglected, 
barely noticed by Charles, must have been miserable 
by very reason of her true devotion to the King. 

It is in Charles' court that we first see John Dry- 
den as a well-known poet. You remember that he 
was one of those who visited Milton in his blind old 
age. Passing over all the minor Cavalier poets, the 
authors of satires and prose works — Burton, Walton, 
and many others, — we come to Dryden as one of the 
leading figures in our story of literature. 

Dryden was the son of a country gentleman 
and was born in the year 1631, probably on the 
9th of August. His father was a Puritan — a Presby- 
terian it is said — and, of course, Dryden was educated 
as such while at home. He was sent at an early age 
to Westminster School, where at this day a wooden 
form is preserved in which Dryden's name is cut. 

The head master was a famous man named Busby. 
He liked young Dryden who was always scribbling 
verses or bits of translations, — a slim boy, we are 
told, with a plain grave face and an unusually quiet 




A London Dandy of 1646. 



For Young Readers. 225 

manner. Old Dr. Busby was an eccentric character, 
immensely fond of disciplining the boys and flogging 
them when they needed it. He had a great idea of 
keeping up his dignity before the boys, and would 
stride into the school-room with a solemn air which 
struck terror into some of the small boys' consciences. 

One day King Charles visited the schools. Dr. 
Busby received him very civilly but kept his hat on 
all the time. One of the foppish gentlemen-in-wait- 
ing whispered to the doctor to take it off. 

" Sir," whispered Busby back again, " 1 am doing 
it on purpose. I could never allow my boys to think 
there was any one greater than I am ! " 

This was Dryden's school teacher and from him 
he, no doubt, learned the art of concentration in work 
which distinguished him later. 

From Westminster School he went to Cambridge 
University where he studied well, made some transla- 
tions, but was nearly disgraced for some satirical 
verses. He graduated in 1653, and a year later his 
father died leaving him heir to a small country prop- 
erty and about sixty pounds a year. Young Dryden 
went down to Northamptonshire to arrange his busi- 
ness affairs. 

Having been much away from home he knew 
his country relations but slightly, and, on being 



226 The Story of English Literature 

introduced to the family of tiis uncle, Sir John Dri- 
den, was captivated by his pretty cousin Honor. 

The country ladies of that day had more real 
charm than the city belles. Puritanism had had the 
effect of refining their manners somewhat ; and if 
home life was too formal and severe, too cold in its 
religious character, it was, at least, better than the 
reckless frivolity of the town. 

Dryden was fascinated by his uncle's daughter, a 
rather coquettish maiden, who seemed to have been 
more amused and flattered than grateful for her cous- 
in's preference. Her refusal to marry him was the 
first disappointment in the poet's life, and it seems to 
have tinged all his later years with a certain melan- 
choly. When Dryden became famous, we are told 
the pretty proud Miss Honor bitterly repented her 
scorn of him. She never listened to another suitor, 
but died an old maid at her country home in North- 
amptonshire. 

After this Dryden jvent to London, where he lived 
much with his uncle, Sir Gilbert Pickering, who was 
Chamberlain to the Protector. Quite naturally the 
young man shared the political views of the house- 
hold. He seems to have thought little about such 
matters, however, until the sudden death of Crom- 
well inspired him, and he burst forth with some verses 



For Young Readers. 227 

on "My Lord Protector" which are still famous. 

Some months passed. You know how Richard 
Cromwell, the Protector's son, was set aside and how 
the "Merry Monarch " came to his own again. Dry- 
den, it appears, went over to the new King's cause 
and welcomed him with a poetical greeting, not at all 
equalling, however, his tribute to the dead Cromwell. 
Charles received him at once into favor, and on fine 
mornings when the King was seen pacing to and fro 
under the trees of the Mall, "Mr. Driden" (as his 
name was sometimes written ) was often his compan- 
ion, the King conversing affably with him, or with 
Pepys or Evelyn, those amusing gossips, or perhaps 
Locke, who was at this time coming into notice as a 
philosopher. 

You can fancy the scene on such an occasion. 
The King, as Pepys tells us, " mighty fine " in white 
or blue satin and silver lace ; his face thin and dark ; 
his hair black and worn in long curling locks falling 
upon his shoulders. By his side see Dryden, a rather 
plump, bright-complexioned man, but with " a down 
look," as one of his friends said, " and not very con- 
versible." * 

And there comes stout little Pepys, the amiable 
gossip, trotting along with his pretty wife in a yellow 

• Pope to Spence. See Spence's Anecdotes. 



228 The Story of English Literature 

satin petticoat, a crimson sacque, and her hair in a 
cluster of short and long ringlets. Evelyn, more se- 
date than Pepys, 1 am sure, stands somewhat apart, a 
little horrified by the boisterous merriment of a group 
of court ladies in masks who, now and then, attract 
the King's attention by some saucy witty speech. 
Portraits of the beautiful frivolous women of Charles' 
court were being painted by Sir Peter Lily, the court 
artist, whom we may see approaching to ask His Maj- 
esty some question about the background or coloring 
of a picture Charles had commanded. 

I was looking yesterday at some of Sir Peter's 
pictures still hanging in the palace at Hampton 
Court ; a row of prett}^ simpering, idle women who 
cared nothing for the higher duties of life, who frit- 
tered away their time at St. James and died one by 
one, unhappy, neglected old women, with no human 
being to care whither the souls they themselves had 
forgotten were journeying. 

Pleasure and distraction, as you see, ruled the day, 
and so the theatres which Charles reopened were 
largely patronized ; but who could expect that for 
such a court the plays would be moral and free from 
vulgarity ? Indeed, no one now reads or remembers 
the drama of that time. 

We have to regret that Dryden, whose genius was 
worth better employment, stooped to write for the 



For Young Readers. 229 

players and theatres of the d^y. It seemed then, 
however, to be the one road to success open to him ; 
later in life he bitterly regretted having so wasted 
and degraded the talent God had given him. His 
first play was a failure ; but about the same time he 
went to visit Sir Robert Howard, the son of the Earl 
of Berkshire, and the two young men set about writ- 
ing a play together. 

The Earl of Berkshire's house at Charlton was a 
very comfortable agreeable place. Dryden was never 
fond of the court frivolities and he liked the quiet 
hours at his friend's country house, where he divided 
his time between work and society of a calmer, more 
congenial description than he found at St. James. 
One of the family was Lady Elizabeth Howard, the 
Earl's daughter, a handsome young woman, witty and 
merry though not intellectual. How it came about 
we do not know, but the poet offered her his hand 
and, the young lady accepting it, they were soon mar- 
ried. Both repented the marriage afterwards, for 
Dryden was devoted to literature and his wife did 
not understand him. She wanted his undivided at- 
tention ; and we are told that once, in a passion, after 
heaping reproaches upon him, she exclaimed : 

" I wish, sir, I was a book ; then you might care 
for me ! " 

" If you were an almanac, my dear," rejoined the 



230 The Story of English Literature 

husband, "and I could change you once a year!" 
The play written by Dryden and Howard was pro- 
duced at the theatre with gorgeous scenery and 
proved successful. Other plays followed, and of 
course Dryden had both rivals and enemies. Among 
these the Duke of Buckingham was the leading spirit ; 
and later a wretched poet, or rather rhymester, named 
Elkanah Settle, was set up as his rival, but, except in 
one instance, the work of these rivals is forgotten. 
Buckingham wrote a very clever satire on Dryden's 
plays, called " The Rehearsal," in which all the 
poet's weaknesses were sharply ridiculed, and the 
style was sharply burlesqued. * 

In the year 1666 a terrible fire broke out in Lon- 
don, spoken of to this day as " The Great Fire of 
London." Evelyn has left a description of it, telling 
how one splendid building after another vanished in 
the flames, and it seemed as if the whole city and its 
inhabitants must be destroyed, and swarms of home- 
less women and children thronged the streets for 
days afterwards, while the noblest portion of the city 
lay in ruins. 

Dryden, who was then at Charlton, wrote a very 
fine poem to commemorate this year, known as the 
" Annus Mirabilis," or " Wonderful Year." His ene- 

* This is said to have suggested to Sheridan one of his famous plays, The 
Critic. 



For Young Readers. 231 

mies were still jealous and longing to do him some 
injury ; and the Earl of Rochester, an infamous man 
who does not merit the name of poet, hired certain 
ruffians to attack Dryden as he was walking home 
one night through Rose Alley. They beat him se- 
verely, and so sudden was their descent upon him 
that Dryden had no opportunity for self-defence. 
How unjust the libels put upon him were, you can 
fancy from the fact that, for years, he was ridiculed 
for not resisting this mean and cowardly beating, 
while the dishonorable Rochester's part seems to 
have been forgotten. 

In 168 1 Dryden silenced his enemies by a satire 
called Absalom and Achitophel. This poem was di- 
rected at political as well as literary characters, the 
Earl of Shaftesbury being pointed at with open mean- 
ing. 

The King, as usual, was pleased with Dryden's 
work and desired him to do more in the same direc- 
tion. One day they were walking together in the 
Mall when Charles said suddenly : 

"Now, Dryden, if /were a poet — " 

"Well, your Majesty," said Dryden laughing, 
" what then ? " 

" I would write a poem called The Medal^^' said 
Charles ; and forthwith explained his ideal of a politi- 



232 The Story of E7iglish Literatttre 

cal poem, which Dryden took up at once and wrote 
his well known poem named, as the King suggested, 
The Medal. 

A religious poem appeared soon after, for which 
the poet was ridiculed by some and applauded by 
others. 

At this period authors were obliged to make their 
work personal, in a way, if they wished to be well re- 
ceived. It was an age very different from our own, 
for literature was not accepted solely for itself. Sat- 
ire, political suggestions, public praises, all these were 
part of an author's work unless he dealt solely in 
science and philosophy, as Locke was doing in Dry- 
den's day; as Bacon had done while Ben Jonson was 
writing plays and a crowd of insignificant poets sang 
the praises of this one or that in the court of Eliza- 
beth and James. 

In 1685 the King showed signs of failing health, 
but the riotous court life went on as before. The 
theatres were crowded ; the gay companies of ladies 
and gentlemen danced, gambled, quarrelled, and died 
in the same careless fashion as if all immortality was 
nothing. In the midst of it all, while playing at cards 
one night, the King was stricken with Death. The 
courtiers were suddenly checked in their dissipation. 
Death, coming to that " Merry Monarch " with such a 



For Yoicng Readers. 233 

swift remorseless tread, awed those who stood about 
and hushed their bold speeches and boisterous laugh- 
ter. 

The poor King, I think, saw what a farce his life 
had been. He apologized ironically to those about 
him for being so long in d3-ing. The Queen, who 
had loved him, was wild with grief and he humbl}^ 
asked her pardon for having ill-treated her so long. 
She, poor lady, fell upon her knees and besought him 
to forgive her any wrong she might have done him. 

You can fancy this pitiful royal death-bed. Mirth 
and frivolity suddenly stopped short. Did those silly 
women of the court, those fine plumed and ruffled 
gentlemen pause, I wonder, long enough to question 
their own consciences ? We can see them standing 
about the sumptuous bed of their sovereign, or chat- 
ting together in the ante-rooms, discussing his follies 
and his good-heartedness. One of them sent a Cath- 
olic priest to the King who accepted the Roman 
Catholic faith before dying, and his funeral took 
place at night according to the law which forbade its 
being public or in daylight. 

Diyden had been going in and out of all these 
scenes, and the new sovereign, James II,, knew him 
well. He was created Poet Laureate, a post for wdiich 
he was extremely well-fitted ; but you know from 



234 The Story of English Literature 

history all the tumult of this time — how King James 
abdicated and died in exile ; how William and 
Mary reigned at Whitehall and St. James. The 
court, if somewhat improved in decorum, was a dull 
one even for the poets, and Dryden lost his honors 
by reason of his Catholicism. 

This was, however, the best period of his writing 
and the most industrious part of his life. His income 
was small, and losing the royal bounty which he had 
enjoyed as Poet Laureate under James was partic- 
ularly unfortunate now, for his son Charles had re- 
turned from Italy an invalid and looked to him for 
support. 

At this time Dryden lived in Gerrard Street, near 
Soho Square, in a plain brick house which is still 
standing and known as Number Forty-Three. He used 
to write in the front-room on the ground floor. We 
are told just how he spent his time. Rising early he 
wrote in the morning hours, then dined en famille, 
and afterwards repaired to "Will's Coffee-House," 
from which he returned early in the evening. 

" Will's " was in those days a famous place. When 
young men graduated at Oxford or Cambridge and 
came up to London with rhymes and " satires " in 
their pockets, ready for publication and perhaps de- 
rision, their first ambition was to be received at 



For Young Eeaders. 235 

" Will's," the coffee or chocolate house most noted 
as a rendezvous for the wits, scholars, and poets of 
the day. 

It was situated in Covent Garden, at the end of 
Bow Street. A haberdasher liad a shop on the 
ground floor ; the coffee and card rooms were above, 
and the clever gentlemen who thronged them passed 
in by a very modest side entrance. ^ The meeting- 
room of the coterie was a plain, substantial sort of 
place, with sanded floor, easy-chairs and tables j wide 
windows, opening in summer upon a balcony, in win- 
ter closed and draped with warm soft hangings, while 
a huge fire burned cheerily ; and the guests were per- 
mitted to cook for themselves a chop or bit of bacon 
if they liked. Near the fire-place was a comfortable 
seat known always and respected as " Dryden's win- 
ter chair.*' Without, upon the balcony, a chair was 
kept for the poet's summer use. No one ever touched 
them j but when Dryden occupied either, a group of 
men, young and old, gathered about. 

He was recognized as the leader of the coterie at 
"Will's." The younger men, when they came first 
into that sacred haunt, sought him eagerly; yet he 
could hardly be called a popular man. He had ri- 
vals and enemies, and, indeed, I hardly think he was 

* The building is now a "ham and beef shop." 



236 The Story of English Literature 

a man of very sympathetic, genial nature ; but all the 
world respected him. 

Conversation at " Will's " must have been, I think, 
very entertaining. English literature was young 
enough to make a new style, or a new idea, the subject 
for general discussion. Dryden talked ; the rest list- 
ened, then discussed and debated. 

Can you not picture these elegantly dressed gentle- 
men lounging about the shabby comfortable room, 
discussing Locke's new books on Philosophy and 
Science, Boileau, a popular French writer of the day, 
the latest French dramas of Racine, a new edition of 
Paradise Lost or of Dryden's Virgil, or, perhaps, the 
poems of a promising young writer named Addison; 
while by the fire, or on the balcony, sits the old poet, 
the plump, finely-colored, serious gentleman whose 
opinions are of the utmost weight and consequence. 

Newspapers, small sheets and rather quaint in 
style, were then fairly established, and copies v/ere 
handed about at '• Will's " with some ceremony as af- 
fording topics for discussion and argument. Now 
and then, one of the gentlemen in attendance on 
Queen Mary's dull court at Hampton Court Palace 
would appear in the midst, and forthwith stories of 
the royal household, of the beautiful arrogant Duch- 
ess of Marlborough, or of the stupid, well-meaning 
Princess Anne, were circulated. 



For Young Readers. 237 

All classes were combined at "Will's." Literature 
and Politics went hand in hand, while Fashion looked 
on, a little in the distance, perhaps, but still with a 
certain measure of approval. 

It was at "Will's "in those days that "lampoon- 
ing," as a certain kind of anonymous attack was 
called, began to be practised. All public events, and 
many very private personal affairs, were made the sub- 
ject of verses, satirical and sometimes insolent in the 
extreme. No one knew who wrote them, though no 
doubt the authors were often enough suspected and 
discovered. Copies were circulated at ''Will's" and 
other public places, to the great mortification and 
annoyance of the people held up to ridicule. They 
were very poor specimens of versifying ; only a 
few are preserved, and these in themselves are not 
worth recording except as an illustration of the man- 
ners of the day. While true poetry on the one hand 
had become more dignified, elegant and stately, mere 
verse-making was a popular means of revenge in the 
hands of politicians as well as men of literary re. 
nown ; and, as the utmost freedom was used, you can 
well imagine how much trouble and vexation these 
lampoons occasioned. 

The most noted publisher of that day was one Ja- 
cob Tonson, whose shop in the Strand, with its sign 
of " Shakespeare's head," once stood where a corner 



238 The Story of English Literature 

of Somerset House now stands. Tonson was a re- 
markable man, and his plump, burly figure is well- 
known in pictures of that time. If Dryden and he 
sometimes quarrelled we must, on the whole, admit 
that the poet was treated very fairly. Dryden trans- 
lated Virgil and Ovid and made well by it. But an 
amusing incident is related in connection with this 
from which you can see how much poets and publish- 
ers depended upon patronage. When Tonson took 
the MS. of Virgil he told Dryden he must dedicate it 
to King William. 

"Not a bit of it," retorted Dryden, who hated the 
monarch for his scorn of all Catholics in the kingdom. 

Tonson fretted and fumed in his shop while Dry- 
den stood by resolute and not to be bought over. 

" It can't be done, Tonson," he said finally, bring- 
ing his hand down upon the pile of proof-sheets. 
Then he turned away and walked out of the shop 
with a contemptuous air. 

Tonson looked at the proof sheets and at a sketch 
made to face the title page. It was a picture of Vir- 
gil with the usual laurel wreath. An idea suddenly 
seized Tonson and away he rushed to the engraver, 
who, after some suggestions, made Virgil into an 
abominable likeness of the Dutch King William. In 
those days even an absurdity of this kind was well re- 



For Young Readers, 239 

ceived. The King was complimented, Tonson satis- 
fied, and it was useless for Dryden to howl with rage. 

Soon afterwards, the Stationers' Company applied 
to him to write an ode to St. Cecilia for their annual 
musical festival, held on the twenty-second of Novem- 
ber, the Feast of St. Cecilia. Dryden wrote the ode, 
and later, in 1697, prepared a second for the same 
company. This last is the great poem by which Dry- 
den will always be most widely known and honored. 
It is called Alexander's Feast. 

The first ode was written under a wonderful inspi- 
ration. Lord Bolingbroke, a leading nobleman of 
the day, called one morning at the house in Gerrard 
Street to see Dryden. The poet received him but 
was weak, trembling and nervous. Lord Bolingbroke 
inquired at once if he was ill. 

"My musical friends," replied Dryden, " made me 
promise to write them an ode for their Feast of St. 
Cecilia. I have been so struck with the subject that 
I could not leave it until it was written — here it is, 
finished at one sitting I " 

In this ode, which I cannot give entire, occur the 
following familiar lines : 

" From harmony, from heavenly harmony, 

This universal frame began j 
From harmony to harmony, 



240 The Story of English Literature 

Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 
The diapason closing full in man." 

The second ode to St. Cecilia, commonly called 
Aiexa?ider's Feast concludes with the following fa- 
miliar lines on the saint : 

" Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 

Or both divide the crown ; 
He raised a mortal to the skies, 

She drew an angel down." 

In the year 1698, a clergyman named Jeremy Coll- 
ier wrote a pamphlet fiercely denouncing the "Dram- 
atists of the Restoration," as Wycherley, Congreve, 
Otway, Dryden and many others were called. His 
aim was to show how corrupt and degraded the stage 
and drama had become. He was certainly in the 
right, but he used such strong language that many 
thought him extravagant in what he said, and like 
most reformers he went too far, finding fault with tri- 
fles which he might easily have overlooked. 

Congreve tried to answer the attack, but failed 
foolishly. Dryden humbly owned that he had done 
wrong in his youth by putting into print and upon the 
stage such vulgar and even wicked dramas. He 
pleaded guilty, he said, to all the accusations of vul- 
garity and coarseness in his early writings with which 
Collier taxed him, and he retracted them. 



For Young Readers. 241 

This attack of Collier's made a great sensation, 
both at the time and 3^ears later, and, with all its ex- 
travagance, did much good. 

Dryden had translated several books for Tonson, 
and was now induced to undertake the rendering of 
some of Chaucer's stories into English verse which 
could be understood by the readers of the day; the 
English of Dryden's time being, except in a few ex- 
pressions, like our own. He worked hard at these 
verses, laboring also for his son Charles ; and when a 
certain playwright asked him to write the prologue 
and epilogue to a play, promising that the profits on 
the third night should be given to Charles Dryden, 
he did not refuse. 

Bufrhis hand was tired. Disease had long wearied 
the poet and hard work had increased his suffering. 
Twenty days after the prologue and epilogue were 
written, when the coterie at " Will's " met one soft 
Spring evening ( May ist, 1700. ), Tonson came rush- 
ing into the coffee room, where the master's chair 
was vacant, with the news that John Dryden had 
breathed his last. 



242 'The Story of Eiiglish Literature 



Contemporaries of Dryden. 

John Dryden. 1631 — 1700. Poet and Dramatist. Wiote 
" Heroic Stanzas on the Late Lord Protector " ( in honor of 
Cromwell ) ; " Astrea Redux " and " A Panegyric " ( in honor of 
Charles II.); " Annus Mirabilis " ( on the great fire of London ) ; 
" Absalom and Achitophel " (in reply to his critics) ; " Religio 
Laici " (in defense of the Church of England ) ; *'The Hind 
and Panther" (in defense of the Church of Rome); "Ode 
to St. Cecilia" and "Alexander's Feast." Besides these and 
other poems he wrote some remarkable Fables ( after Boccaccio 
and Chaucer, etc.); also nine plays, including "The Indian 
Emperor," " The Rival Ladies," " The Wild Gallant," etc. ; some 
in rhyme, others in blank verse, and all coarse and improper. 
In prose he wrote ** Essay on Dramatic Poets," and certain crit- 
ical essays, etc. 

John Locke. 1632 — 1704. Philosopher. Wrote "Essay 
on the Human Understanding;" "Letters on Toleration;" 
" Treatises on Government ; " " On Interest and the Value of 
Money ; " " On Miracles ; " " On Education," etc. 

Thomas Otvvay. 1651 — 1685. Dramati.st. Wrote "The 
Orphan ; " " Venice Preserved," etc. 



For Young Readers. 24^ 

Thomas Shadvvell. 1640 — 1692. Poet and Dramatist. 
Crowned Poet Laureate in 16S8. Among his plays are " Timon 
of Athens;" "The Humorists;" ''The Virtuoso"; "The 
Lancashire Witches ; " " The Squire of Alsatia," etc. 

William Wycherly. 1640 — 171 5. Founder of the im- 
moral dramas of the Restoration. Wrote " Love in a Wood ; " 
"The Gentleman Dancing-Master;" "The Country Wife," 
etc. 

William Congreve. 1666 — 1729. Dramatist. Wrote 
" The Way Of the World ; " '* The Mourning Bride," etc. 

Sir John Vanbrugh. 1666 — 1726. Dramatist; also a 
famous architect. Wrote " The Relapse ; " " The Provoked 
W^ife," etc. 

John Evelyn, F. R. S. 1620 — 1705. Philosopher, natur- 
alist and courtier. Known chiefly for his famous " Diary and 
Correspondence." Wrote also " Sylva, or a Discourse of For- 
est Trees," a work of great value to the English nation; and 
•* Terra, a Discourse of the Earth," etc. 

Samuel Pepys. 1632 — 1703. Courtier and Government 
official. Famous for his " Diary " ( written in cipher and hidden 
from view for more than a century ; it was finally discovered in 
the library of Magdalen College, Oxford, and translated for 
publication in 1825). Pepys also wrote " Memoirs on the State 
of the Royal Navy; " and "Portugal History" in 1667 — 166S. 

William Penn. 1644 — 1718- Founder of Pennsylvania, 
preacher and philanthropist. Wrote " Truth exalted ; "' " No 
cross, no crown ; " " Truth recovered from Imposture ; " " Qua- 
kerism, a new name for old Christianity," etc. 

Sir William Temple. 1628 — 1699. Diplomatist. Wrote 
"Memoirs," and " Miscellanies." 

Hon. Robert Boyle. 1627 — 1691. Philosopher and chief 
founder of the Royal Society. Wrote many scientific essays ; 
also " Seraphic Love ; " "A Discourse of Thhigs above Rea- 
son;" "Discourse against Swearing," etc. 

George Fox. 1624 — 1690. Founder of the Society of 
Friends. Wrote "Journal of his Life and Travels," etc 



244 The Story of English Literature 

Robert Barclay. 1648 — 1690. Quaker theologian. Wrote 
" Apology for True Christian Divinity," etc. 

Algernon Sidney. 1621 — 1683. Scholar and courtier. 
Was executed for treason though innocent, as was afterwards 
proved. Wrote " Discourses on Government ; " " Essay on 
Love," etc. 

John Ray ( Wray ). 1627 — 1704 Naturalist. Wrote 
" Universal History of Plants ; " *' Synopsis of Quadrupeds and 
Serpents," etc. 

John Wallis, D. D. 1616 — 1703. Astronomer, mathema- 
tician and grammarian. Professor at Oxford. Wrote many 
scientific works in Latin, and the first English Grammar ever 
published, this also in Latin. 

Elias Ashmole. 1617 — 1693. Antiquarian and founder 
of the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford University. Wrote " His- 
tory of the Order of the Garter." 

John Aubrey. 1627 — 1697. Antiquarian. 

Captain William Dampier. 1652 — Famous navigator. 
Wrote " Voyage round the World," etc. 

Anthony Wood. 1632 — 1695. Historian of Oxford Un- 
vei-sity. 

Wentworth Dillon, Earl of Roscommon. 1633 — 1684. 
Irish writer. Benefitted the literature of the day by his pure and 
moral writings. Pope said of him : " Roscommon, not more 
learned than good." Wrote " Essay on Translated Verse;" 
and several odes, prologues, etc. 

Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset. 1637 — 1706. Poet 
and satirist. His most celebrated song was : *' To all you la- 
dies now on land." 

THEOLOGICAL WRITERS : 
Bishop Burnet. 1643 — I709- Bishop Ken. 1637 — 1710. 
John Tillotson, George Hicks, Robert South, Edward Still- 
ingfleet, William Beveridge, etc. 

MINOR WRITERS OF THE PERIOD. 
John Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham ; John Wilmot, Earl of 



For Young Readers. 245 

Rochester ; William Cavendish, Duke of Devon ; Sir George 
Etheridge, Sir William Killigrew, Henry Vaughn, Joseph Beau- 
mont, John Phillips, Thomas Brown, John Pomfret, Nathaniel 
Lee, Sir Charles Sedley, Richard Fleckure, John Banks, Mrs. 
Aphra Behn, Sir Roger L' Estrange, Edward Chamberlayne, 
L. L. D., Sir Samuel Morland, Sir George Mackenzie, Sir Rob- 
ert Atkyns, John Eachard, Andrew Fletcher, Thomas Burnet, 
James Drake, Roger Palmer, Sir Thomas Pope Blount, Charles 
Blount, etc. 



246 Tlie Story of English Literature 



IX. 

ADDISON AND STEELE. [1672-179I.] [1671-1792.] 

The Court of Queen Anne and " Queen Sarah " — A walk in 
Addison's London — Addison and Steele at the Charterhouse 
school — Dick Steele's mischief and scrapes — A holiday at 
Lichfield — Addison at Oxford University — His travels on 
the Continent — Steele's career in the army— The friends 
meet in London — Politics and literature — Godolphin gives 
Addison a commission — Addison in Ireland — Steele's plan 
for a newspaper — Success of The Tatler — Plan of The 
Spectator — Addison and his friends at the " Grecian" coffee- 
house — Steele's recklessness — Lady Steele at Hampton 
Court — The lion's head at "Button's" coffee house" — 
Levees at Kensington Palace — The dangers of traveling by 
coach — Addison in full dress — His courtship of Lady "War- 
wick — First night of Cato at Drury Lane — Addison as State 
Secretary — Marriage with the Countess and life at Holland 
House — Coolness between Addison and Steele — Addison's 
last hours — Steele's reformation and peaceful end. 

FROM Dryden, let us turn to the host of writers 
who gave to the reign of Queen Anne the 
name of the " Augustan Era " in English literature. 
It was not quite deserved, later critics have thought, 



For Yoimg Readers. 247 

but poets, essayists and dramatists seemed to spring 
up on ever}^ side, about this time ; the Queen, though 
dull and uninteresting herself, liked the society of 
clever people, and her court was noted for the brilliant 
men and women who thronged it. 

The beautiful Duchess of Marlborough ruled Queen 
Anne, as you know ; for many years she gathered 
about the court a circle of clever men and women, 
and St. James, Hampton-Court and Kensington 
Palace are full of associations of the time when 
" Queen Sarah " as the Duchess was called, was at the 
height of her fame and beauty, and her husband, the 
hero of Blenheim, was one of the leaders in the 
Whig party. 

Literature had now become popular and fashiona- 
ble. A hundred well-known names belong to the 
period, but in this chapter we shall touch only upon 
the greatest; and to know these you must fancy your- 
self in the London of their day, driving in the heavy 
coaches, going about in the pretty, curious sedan- 
chairs j drinking chocolate, or tea, or wine in the fa- 
mous coffee-houses : saunterins: into the drawing:- 
rooms of the great ; making your way down the 
Strand to Tonson's book-shop ; listening to Jacobite 
songs ; reading some lampoon or satire thrown down 
upon your plate at "Will's," or "Button's;" pausing 



248 The Story of English Literature 

to watch the solemn funeral procession of some dead 
genius on its way to the old Abbey, or the gorgeous 
cavalcade of Lord Mayor or prince passing through 
the city. The company we are now going into was a 
goodly one, I think. We have to-day only their pic- 
tures and their books, their letters and their odd bits 
of gossip about each other, but all these can take us 
back almost face to 'face with their times. 

There is a famous old school in London known 
as the Charterhouse. Since 1685 it has been al- 
tered, remodeled, in part rebuilt, and yet about the 
walls, in the cloisters, in the courtyards, and up and 
down the long, quaint corridors, the shallow oaken 
staircases, the dull old wainscotting, there seems to me 
to rest the memory of two boys, who, in 1685, played 
and studied, read and romped together, as pupils of 
the Charterhouse. The names of these two friends 
were Joseph Addison and Richard Steele ; and later 
in life they were known as the authors of the 7^//^r and 
Spectator. Addison's father was a clergyman at 
Lichfield, and Steele was the son of an attorney in 
Dublin, who had died when the boy was only five. 
" Dick," as Steele was always called, had come to the 
Charterhouse when he was twelve ; and Addison was 
the same age, a scholarly, well-bred boy, who took all 
sorts of prizes and won conmendation from boys and 
teachers. 



For Young Readers. 249 

Poor Dick, on the contrary, was full of mischief, 
and never was well out of one scrape before he was 
in another. Had all the stories of his exploits as a 
boy been printed they would fill a volume. On one 
occasion we hear that Dick Steele amused himself, of 
a moon-light night, by frightening the neighborhood 
with a mock ghost. Again he was caught pouring 
water down a neighboring chimne}^ 

Addison went his way calmly and properl}^, but 
when the holiday season came, it was Dick Steele, of 
all the boys, whom he asked home to the Deanery at 
Lichfield. The two loved each other — Dick with all 
the generous enthusiasm of his Irish nature, blind to 
faults, if Addison had any, proud of his friend's 
cleverness and unselfish in his friendship ; Addison 
with that well balanced affection which never closed 
his eyes to poor Dick's failings. ' 

I think it is easy to picture the two boys in the 
great country house at Lichfield : Addison quite the 
young gentleman of the family at fifteen, handsome 
and dignified, with a great deal of sly humor, a twin- 
kle in his quiet gray eyes, and a fondness for making 
little good-natured criticisms on his brothers and 
sisters ; Steele, rather a stout boy for his years, black 
eyed, and dark haired, with a gay Irish laugh, boister- 
ous mirth, recklessness in every act, but such amiable 
good nature, such overflowing kindness of heart, that 



250 Tlie Story of English Literature 

all the young people at Lichfield, as well as the Dean 
and the housemaids and men servants, worshiped him. 

Addison and Steele were afterwards together at the 
university of Oxford, where Addison was distinguished 
for his scholarship and also for his Latin verses. The 
rooms he occupied in the college are still to be seen 
there, and for two centuries his favorite promenade 
under the elms by the shore of the Isis, has borne 
the name of " Addison's Walk." 

After leaving Oxford he was offered an official po- 
sition under the government and went abroad, with a 
pension of ;^3oo, to study French. Steele, mean- 
while, entered the army of King William, where he 
rose to be a captain and made friends on every side. 

Addison traveled for a time on the continent, in- 
vestigating all that he saw and profiting by his stud- 
ies ; but unfortunately his patron at Court, who had 
procured him the pension, lost his own position, and 
of course Addison suffered likewise. He came back 
to London with a very scanty income, and took a 
lodging in a plain house, a room in the third story, 
called in those days a garret. By this time Steele had 
left the army and coming back to London, poor, in 
debt, reckless as ever, had taken to writing. He 
sought his old friend at once, and discussing literary 
work and plans, assured Addison that he wished for 



For Young Feaders. 251 

nothing so much as that they might write something 
together. 

Political feeling and party spirit was now so strong 
in England that all the writers of the day were affect- 
ed by it. There were three parties. The " Tories " 
held by the court and church and government j the 
" Whigs " favored liberal views ; the " Jacobites " de- 
fended the Pretender, as Queen Anne's brother was 
called. Through the streets Jacobite songs were 
sung ; in the drawing-rooms of leading noblemen, 
Whig or Tory sentiments affected every company. 
Over the then new tea-cups at Kensington, Hampton- 
Court and St. James, ladies talked politics, and handed 
about the verses written by " Penny-a-liners " on 
some Whig or Tory hero, and many a gay beauty of 
the Queen's court was toasted in the coffee-houses as 
a leader of one or other of the factions. 

This was the period of the war for the succession 
in Spain, when, at Blenheim, the great Duke of Marl- 
borough had won the victory which made England 
proud and triumphant. So important an ally of poli- 
tics was literature considered,' that the Whigs felt it 
necessary to have Marlborough's praises sung in 
verse ; a dozen miserable rhymesters had tried to do 
it, but only rendered the general and his victories 
ludicrous. Godolphin, the Secretary of State, was so 



252 



The Story of English Literature 



troubled that he asked Lord Halifax's opinion on the 
subject, and the result was that on the same day the 
nobleman might have been seen in a sedan-chair on 
his way to the humble lodging of Joseph Addison. 




The gentlemanly scholar received him with some sur- 
prise, but Godolphin's errand was soon explained : 
''Would Mr. Addison write an appropriate poem in 
honor of the great Marlborough and Blenheim ? " 

Addison's poem was a complete success. All the 
town read it ; the Whigs were delighted, and even the 



For Young Readers, 253 

Tories had to own that it was fine. In fashionable 
drawing-rooms it was read with applause, in public 
offices the ministers of the Queen stopped to talk it 
over. The booksellers in the Strand could hardly 
supply the demand for it. Of course after this Ad- 
dison was given a public office, that being the fashion 
of the day ; and later he went in an official capacity 
to Ireland. While there Steele wrote him of a novel 
plan he had formed for literary work. 

I have told you about the newspapers of the time ; 
they were very poor from a literary point of view, and 
gave only the slightest store of news. There was little 
in them to attract any reader ; certainly nothing to in- 
terest the Queen's ladies, and the middle-class gentle- 
women, the clever men of the day, or the country 
squires and parsons. Steele's idea was to bring out a 
weekly paper in which all manner of current events 
should be noticed and talked .about by an imaginary 
person to be called " Mr. Isaac Bickerstaff." He had 
assumed this name in a recent controversy with an- 
other author and it seemed appropriate to keep it up. 
He wrote to Addison for assistance, and his friend at 
once promised it. The plan was developed, and on 
the 1 2th of April, 1709, appeared the first number of 
The Tatler. The paper was received with delight, and 
continued for two years to be extremely popular, but 
by this time Addison bad returned to London, and at 



254 '^^^^ Story of English Liter atiire 

his suggestion The Tatler was discontinued and an- 
other paper, on an improved plan, took its place. 
This was in 171 1, and the new paper was named The 
Spectator. 

Steele and Addison used to meet at a coffee-house 
known as ''The Grecian," and there they made and 
developed their plan, which, when finally arranged, 
was somevv'hat as follows : 

"The Spectator " was an imaginary character, sup- 
posed to be a gentleman of high culture and educa- 
tion who had devoted himself to all kinds of study 
and inquiry. After travelling abroad he took up his 
residence in London, where he observed the manners 
and customs of the time, the fine ladies and gentle- 
men, the belles of Queen Anne's court, the toasts of 
the clubs, the wits and clever men, the beaux and 
frivolous young gentlemen of society. He was an 
haljitue of clubs ; he went among bankers and mer- 
chants in the morning ; in the evening he went to the 
theatre; always observing, always commenting and 
criticising. But the "Spectator" was supposed to 
be a bashful man, who only talked among his few 
chosen friends ; of these, one Sir Roger DeCoverley 
was destined to be best known, and to this day, you 
will often hear the name of the dear old " Sir Roger " 
whom Addison and Steele created. 

I suppose that we to-day can hardly know how great 



For Young Readers. 255 

was the enthusiasm with which The Spectator was re- 
ceived. It was published daily — a small paper, neat- 
ly printed, and attractive in form ; v/hen London gen- 
tlemen came down to their breakfast they looked eag- 
erly for it upon their plates ; every club and coffee- 
house kept copies upon its tables ; country gentlemen 
sent their servants early to meet the post-boys who 
galloped in from the nearest town with letters and 
The Spectator in their bags. 

You see up to that time nothing so like an English 
story or tale had ever been given to the public. The 
Spectator tells a story from day to day, in which the 
current events are noted. Sir Roger is described as 
coming to town ; or The Spectator tells how he visited 
Sir Roger at his country-seat, Coverley Hall. There 
he describes the house, the honest butler, the old 
chaplain, and it is all so graphic we can almost see the 
faces and hear the voices, and feel the ring of honest 
laughter or touch of scorn in Sir Roger's tone now 
and then, his indignation at some folly of the day, 
his enjoyment of some good book or bit of acting. 
Not only was there this sort of novel interest in The 
Spectator, but the style was the purest and best prose 
that had ever appeared in the English language. Ad- 
dison's various essays in The Spectator, besides those 
relating to Sir Roger^ touched on different events of 



256 The Story of English Literature 

the time, manners and customs, follies and vices. In 
all he wrote there was the same exquisite style of 
composition and originality of design, and better 
still in that age which had seen so much that was 
vicious and corrupt, the most upright and ennobling 
principle. 

At the end of the year The Spectator was discontin- 
ued. It ended with the butler coming up to say that 
poor Sir Roger was dead. Will Honeycomb, a dissi- 
pated character sketched as one of the friends, re- 
forms and marries ; and so the little story, if story it 
may be called, is brought to a close. Later, another 
paper, called The Guardian, was started, but The Spec- 
tator was the one upon which the fame of Addison 
and Steele will always rest Addison at this time 
went to the *' Grecian," much as Dryden did to 
"Will's." In those days a gentleman, especially if he 
were literary, spent four or five hours of every day at 
a coffee-house. Addison had been introduced to the 
"Kit-Kat" club, of which I shall tell you more in the 
next chapter, but at the " Grecian " he was the reign- 
ing sovereign. 

Would you not like to have peeped in at the " Gre- 
cian " some evening when Addison was entertaining 
his friends with his sparkling talk that was never 
gossip, his wit that was never buffoonery, and his elo- 



For Young Readers. 257 

queiice that was never bombast ? We have so many 
pictures of that coffee-house club we can see it all : 
Addison, a tall, manly looking figure, with flowing wig, 
elegant laced clothes, silk stockings and embroidered 
hat, always the gentleman of the occasion ; Steele, 
noisy, careless, good humored, laughing and joking in 
his Irish way ; Dean Swift, the author of Gulliver'' s 
Travels^ a coarse minded, eccentric genius ; and some- 
times a pale, fragile little figure, hump-backed, and 
plain in feature, but the greatest poet of the day — I 
mean Alexander Pope. Tickell and Budgell used 
also to frequent the " Grecian," and so did Ambrose 
Phillips, to whose foolish writings the name " Namby 
pamby " was first given; and doubtless there were 
many wits of the day whose names have been long 
since forgotten. 

There is a story told of Addison's unkindness to 
Steele which it seems tome is misunderstood : Steele 
was a spendthrift, and as he owed Addison money, 
his friend once seized his furniture to recover the 
debt; naturally enough Addison's critics have called 
this a piece of selfish cruelty, but when we look at 
Steele's life we may perhaps find some excuse for it. 
Steele, who had been the wild boy of the Charter- 
house, the beloved young visitor at Lichfield Deanery, 
the bold, gay writer and editor, made friends easily as 



258 The Story of English Literature 

he went on his laughing way in the world ; but he 
drank, he got into debt, he gave grand suppers when 
he could not afford bread and cheese, and then he 
used to have fits of remorse. Addison gave him 
money, time after time, as most of his friends did, 
but Dick was incorrigible. He was married to a 
pretty and intelligent woman of good famil}-, and his 
letters to her show his character to perfection. I 
have been looking them over, and they make one 
laugh and sigh almost in the same moment. He 
bought a house for his bride at Hampton-court, only 
a stone's throw from the Queen's beautiful palace and 
famous gardens, but poor Lady Steele (Dick had been 
knighted) seems to have led a sad life there; her 
husband's letters are a sort of a merry record of the 
scrapes he was always in, and are dated from Child's 
bank, or the Fleet prison or some place where he was 
perhaps hiding from the sheriff ; but he is usually 
tender and loving ; there was just the same affection- 
ate warmth and generosity in his nature which had 
made all the Charterhouse boys and teachers love him 
in spite of his mischief and disorder. If you could 
see those letters you would seem to know poor Dick, 
but you would forget that he was the originator of 
The Tatter and 27ie Spectator-, in them he is only the 
extravagant, half-idle, reckless fellow, whose heart is 



For Young Readers. 



259 



kindly while his actions seem almost cruel in their 
disregard of honor and lack of consideration for his 




Richard Steele. 



wife's feelings. Meanwhile Steele took a house in 
London, in Berry street, now called Bury street near 



26o 



The Story of English Literature. 



which Swift, the Irish dean, then lived ; later we find 
him in a garden mansion in Bloomsbury Square, 
then a very fashionable locality, but here his troubles 
increased. It is said that at one of his dinner parties 
a guest commented on the singular appearance and 
awkwardness of the servants, upon which Steele whis- 
pered : *' Hush, they are the bailiff and his men in 
disguise ! " ^ 

His wife, " poor Prue," as he calls her, often wrote 
from Hampton-court for a guinea, or a pound of 
tea or something of the sort, 
which the reckless though 
kind-hearted husband would 
send with many excuses and 
loving speeches, and then we 
may fancy him gayly making 
his way to " Buttons," the 
coffee-house which was in 
Addison's latter years the 
most popular resort of Lon- 
don men. At " Buttons " was 
a carved oak letter-box in the 
form of a lion's head, into 

whose jaws all contributions for the Guardian (the 
successor of the Spectator) were dropped. f 

*A similar story has been told of Sheridan. 

tThis lion's head is now preserved at Woburn Abbey. 




THE lion's head AT 

"button's." 



For Young Readers. 261 

At one time the poet Pope went there almost daily, 
and the old set, Budgell, Phillips, Carey and Davenant, 
were sure to be found near their great chief, Addison. 

But it was not at coffee-houses only that these 
kindred spirits met; at the levees at Kensington Pal- 
ace men of genius were received, as I have already 
said, with great distinction. The old red brick palace, 
now so quiet and sleepy-looking in the midst of its 
beautiful gardens, was then the Queen's favorite resi- 
dence ; green lanes, broad country roads and mead- 
ows stretched in every direction from it, and when Mr. 
Addison and his friends attended Queen Anne's 
court, they drove thither in a stately coach attended 
by armed outriders, for in those days there were no 
police, and footpads and highwaymen infested the 
roads from Westminster which are now densely pop- 
ulated streets of London. Within, the palace was 
rather a stiff, cold looking place, but a court " Draw- 
ing-room," as a royal reception is called, always 
made it a brilliant scene, for at that day costumes 
were extremely rich and varied. You can fancy Ad- 
dison in a coat, waistcoat and knee-breeches of blue 
satin, silver laced and buckled, a white curled wig, and 
a three-cornered hat, lace ruffles, diamond shoe 
buckles, his sword clanking at his side as he made his 
way up the grand staircase and into the Throne-room 



262 The Story of English Literature 

and Drawing-room, where Swift says Queen Anne 
used to sit in a circle of visitors, her fan to her mouth, 
saying about three words in a minute, and jumping 
up with evident relief when dinner was announced. 

It may have been at Kensington Palace that Addi- 
son met the widow of the Earl of Warwick, a hand- 
some witty woman whose home was at Holland 
House. He fell in love either with her, or with her 
high position ; but though Lady Warwick was amiable 
enough to the distinguished writer, she hardly thought 
that his fame matched with her title and fortune. 

In 17 13 the town was surprised and delighted by 
the promise of a play from the pen of Addison. 
Every eye watched eagerly for its appearance ; differ- 
ent political parties expected to find praise or blame, 
and when the opening night came the old Drury Lane 
theatre was crowded almost to suffocation,* The 
play was Cato. Addison had caught the idea of such 
a play during his foreign travels, and had no doubt 
worked on it at different times. Colley Gibber, poet, 
actor and dramatist, was manager of the theatre, 
and as Addison promised all profits of the play to the 
actors, on the opening night, no pains were spared 
on their part to make it successful. Alexander Pope, 
the poet whose story I shall tell you in the next chap- 

* Drury Lane Theatre was rebuilt in 1797, and au^ain after the fire in X809. 



For Young Readers. 265 

ter, wrote the prologue, the speech with which it was 
customary in those days to introduce a play ; and Dr. 
Garth, the amiable friend of Addison, wrote the epi- 
logue, or closing speech ; an actor named Booth 
played the part of Cato ; the scenery, costumes, and 
all the appointments of the stage were splendid, and, 
as I have said, the house was crowded. Every line 
of the play was supposed to have a political meaning, 
and first on one side of the house, then on the other, 
cheers and applause burst forth, each faction wishing 
to outdo. The great Bolingbroke, who fancied the 
play was meant to satirize Marlborough, was in a box, 
and between the acts he sent for Booth and presented 
him with fifty guineas " for defending the cause of 
liberty so well against a perpetual dictator." Cafo 
was pronounced a success. It contains some of the 
noblest of Addison's thoughts, some of his best 
writing, and will retain its place in literature as long, 
perhaps, as T/ie Spectator itself. 

Queen Anne died at the old Kensington Palace in 
1 7 14, and a regency followed until the arrival of King 
George from Hanover. 

In the interval Addison was made Secretary of 
State ; people used to say that he was unable to send 
his official dispatches punctually because he was so 
excessively particular about his rhetoric ; but this of 



266 The Story of English Literature 

course was absurd, for no man ever wrote more flu- 
ently ; possibly he may not have known, at first, just 
the proper form to use in addressing the new King, 
for in state matters there are modes of expression 
quite unknown elsewhere. 

In thinking of this period of Addison's life it is not 
as State Secretary that I like to picture him, but 
rather as the elegant man of letters and master at 
Holland House. His addresses to the Countess of 
Warwick were at last received favorably ; they were 
married, and Addison took up his abode in the grand 
old mansion which seems always full of associations 
of his memory in spite of all that is more recent* 
Unfortunately the Countess' temper as a wife proved 
less amiable than as a lady at Queen A.nne's Court, 
smiling upon the distinguished author, whose atten- 
tions had a respectful flattery in them. She is repre- 
sented as being imperious and disagreeable in her 
home. Her son, the young Earl, was a spendthrift 
and a disgrace to his name ; and in spite of the 
splendors surrounding him poor Addison must have 
found his life a tiresome one. At Holland House 
there is a spacious park with solemn avenues of grand 
old trees, under which it is said, Addison used to pace 
restlessly in the summer evenings. You may walk 

♦Holland House was afterwards the residence of the famous Lord Holland. 



For Young Readers. 267 

there to-day and look up at the windows of the very 
rooms in which he Hved and wrote ; and if you like, 
you may visit, in a neighboring street, the old " King's 
Arms Tavern " where he used to spend many hours 
to escape from bickerings or sullenness at home. 




Holland House, from the North. 

Meanwhile Addison and poor Dick Steele had had 
some misunderstandings. They seem to us now 
needless ones ; gay, good humored Steele never could 
have cherished bitterness, but in those days Addison 
seems to have withdrawn somewhat from his old asso- 



268 The Story of English Literature 

ciations. In 1718 Steele brought out a paper against 
a certain bill in Parliament, and Addison replied to 
it. The great essayist was ill at this time. We can 
fancy him at Holland House, delighting in its ancient 
glory and yet somewhat dulled by his wife's compan- 
ionship. George the First was reigning over England 
and a German element had not improved the dull 
court life at Kensington or Hampton-Court, but Ad- 
dison cared little for levees and drawing-rooms and 
tea parties with pretty maids-of-honor. His illness 
made rapid strides, and we are told that when con- 
fined to his bed, he sent for his reprobate step-son^ 
hoping the thoughtless Earl might receive a warning. 
" See," he said calmly, "how a Christian may die!" 
Fancying he had done the poet Gay some injury he 
called him near to ask his pardon. Gay could remem- 
ber nothing against Addison, but freely gave him what 
he asked. On the 19th of June, 1719, Addison died; 
leaving only one child, a daughter, who lived to old 
age but never married. 

Steele had been thinking remorsefully of his debts 
for a long time. Under all his gayety and reckless- 
ness there must have been something of strong honest 
purpose, after all, and it is pleasant to find that we 
need not bid good-bye to poor " Dick " without see- 
ing the best and noblest part of his nature. His wife, 



For Young headers. 269 

his "dearest Prue,'Miad died in 17 18, leaving him 
with one son and two daughters. He retired to an 
estate he had inherited in Wales, there to economize 
and pay his debts. It was while living here, towards 
the end of the reign of George I., that his health 
broke down, but he bore his illness with wonderful 
cheerfulness. On summer evenings he used to be 
carried out to see the country lads and lassies danc- 
ing on the green after hay-making or hop-picking, 
and sometimes gave a gown or a ribbon to some 
pretty maiden whose steps were lightest. They all 
loved him. His daughters clung fondly to him when 
his only son, Eugene, was dead. Every creditor was 
paid in full ; and Sir Richard Steele met his last hour 
quietly and serenely on the ist of September, 1629 ; 
ten years after the death of the beloved friend of his 
boyhood. 



270 The Story of English Literature 



From No. 106 of The Spectator. 

( Sir Roger entertains the Spectator at his country-house. The 
way of life there described. ) 

Having often received an invitation from my friend Sir Roger 
iDeCoverly to pass away a month with him in the country, I 
last week accompanied him thither, and am settled with him for 
some time at his country-house where I intend to form several 
of my ensuing speculations. 

Sir Roger, who is well acquainted with my humor, lets me 
rise and go to bed when I please ; dine at his own table or in my 
chamber as I think fit ; sit still and say nothing without bidding 
me be merry. When the gentlemen of the country come to see 
him he only shows me at a distance. As I have been walking 
in his fields I have observed them stealing a sight of me over 
an hedge ; and I have heard the knight desiring them not to let 
me see them, for that I hated to be stared at. 

I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family because it con- 
sists of sober and staid persons ; for, as the knight is the best 
master in the world, he seldom changes his servants, and, as he 
is beloved by all about him, his servants never care for leaving 
him. By this means his domestics are all in years and grown 
old with their master. You would take his valet-de-chambre 
for his brother, his butler is grey-headed, his groom is one of 
the gravest men that I have ever seen, and his coachman has 



For Young Readers. 271 

the looks of a privy-counsellor. You see the goodness of the 
master even in the old house-dog, and in a gray pad that is kept 
in the stable with great care and tenderness, out of regard to 
his past services though he has been useless for several years. 

I could not but observe the joy that appeared in the counte- 
nance of these ancient domestics upon my friend's arrival at his 
country-seat. Some of them conld not refrain from tears at the 
sight of their old master ; every one of them pressed forward to 
do something for him and seemed discouraged if they were not 
employed. At the same time the good old knight, with a mixt- 
ure of the father and the master of the family, tempered the in- 
quiries after his own affairs with several kind questions relating 
to themselves. This humanity and good-nature engages every- 
body to him ; so that when he is pleasant upon any of them all 
his family are in good humor, and none so much so as the per- 
son whom he diverts himself with. On the contrary, if he 
coughs or betrays any infirmity of old age, it is easy for a 
stander-by to observe a secret concern in the looks of all his 
servants. 

My worthy friend has put me under the particular care of his 
butler who is a very pleasant man, and, as well as the rest of his 
fellow-servants, wonderfully desirous of pleasing me, because 
they have heard their master talk of me as of his particulai 
friend. 

My chief companion when Sir Roger is diverting himself in 
the woods or the fields is a very venerable man, who is ever with 
Sir Roger, and has lived at his house in the nature of a chaplain 
above thirty years. This gentleman is a person of good sense 
and some learning, of a very regular life and obliging conversa- 
tion. He heartily loves Sir Roger and knows that he is very 
much in the old knight's esteem, so that he lives in the family 
rather as a relation than a dependent. 



272 The Story of English Literature 



X. 



ALEXANDER POPE AND HIS FRIENDS. 

A boy's glimpse of Dryden — Pope's childhood — A visit to 
London — His mother's reminiscence — Boyish friendships — 
His first publisher — A desperate venture — Sudden popu- 
larity — " The Rape of the Lock" — Pope's villa at Twicken- 
ham — His personal appearance — The Prince of Wales and 
his court at Richmond — Lady Mary Wortley Montague and 
the " Kit-Kats " — Lord Hervey — Life of a Maid-of-Honor 
in 1730 — Kneller's portrait of Lady Mary — Pope's enmity — 
Later works — Writers and celebrities of his day — His last 
hours. 

ONE afternoon while the poet Dryden sat in his 
" Winter-chair " at '' Will's," the door was 
opened by a member of the well-known coterie who 
led by the hand a delicate but pretty boy of twelve. 
The child was all eager curiosity to look upon the 
great poet Dryden, and had persuaded the gentleman 



For Young Readers. 273 

to bring him to the coffee-house. Dryden received 
him most kindly, talked pleasantly to the shy curious 
child, and, when he left him, little thought that he 
had patted the head of a future poet who was to suc- 
ceed him in fame and position. 

The boy was Alexander Pope, who, beginning 
thus early to worship Dryden, continued later in life 
to hold him as his model in the art of verse-making, 
and never forgot the one glimpse he had had of the 
great poet and dramatist. 

Alexander Pope was born on the twenty-second of 
May, 1688, in Lombard Street, London ; but his fa- 
ther removed with his family soon afterwards to Bin- 
field, a pretty town not far from Winchester. Young 
Pope was, we are told, a very pretty and graceful 
child and remarkable for his sweetness of temper; 
later his figure acquired a painful deformity of which 
he was always morbidly ashamed, and it affected not 
only his appearance but his disposition. 

He was sent to school at Twiford \ but having writ- 
ten a satire on his teacher he was dismissed, and 
after that his education seems to have gone on much 
as he chose to conduct it. 

" He set to learning Latin and Greek, by himself, 
about twelve," his mother afterwards told James 
Spence, "and when he was about fifteen resolved 



274 The Story of E??glish Literature 

that he would go up to London and learn French and 
Italian." We, in the family, looked upon it as a wild- 
ish sort of resolution ; for, as his health would not let 
him travel, we could not see any reason for it. He 
stuck to it, went thither and mastered both those lan- 
guages with an extraordinary despatch . . . He had 
had masters, indeed, but they were very indifferent 
ones and what he got was almost wholly owing to his 
own unassisted industry." 

Up in London the boy was often allowed to visit 
the theatres ; but it is well he had no inclination to 
write comedies in the fashion of the day, for they 
were as coarse as the court of Charles the Second 
could have made them. While he was still a school- 
boy he wrote an epic poem, two lines of which he 
afterwards inserted in one of his last works. The 
Dunciad, quite unchanged. It is a couplet on the 
the circulation of the blood. 

" As man's meanders to the vital spring 
Roll all their tides, then back their circles bring." 

Much as he enjoyed London he had many conge 
nial occupations in the country. He was deeply in- 
terested in Spenser's Faery Queen^ and would take 
the book out into the woods and lie upon the grass 
for hours, reading and dreaming the visions Spenser's 
verse brought up. 



For Young Readers, 275 

Sir William Trumbull, an admirable scholar, lived 
near by and took a special fancy to the clever boy. 
Sir William had one of those fine country-houses 
which we now admire as specimens of " Queen Anne 
architecture," built of red brick with gables and tiles 
and countless windows ; the rooms rambling and ir- 
regular ; the halls broad, with panelled walls, and the 
staircases of beautiful polished oak. 

The library in such a house, in 1700, was a very 
important room. Books were coming to be eagerly 
read, and in Sir William's library the shelves reached 
from floor to ceiling, well lined with volumes, includ- 
ing many French and Italian works as well as the 
English authors and the Latin and Greek classics. 

No wonder young Pope delighted in visiting Sir 
William. We can picture him, the shy " sweet-faced 
boy with a voice like a nightingale," * sitting in one 
of the deep-seated windows with a pile of books be- 
fore him, or talking with Sir William about all the 
writers of the day. The nobleman took a great in- 
terest in his young friend, as I have said, and made 
him his constant companion riding or driving, en- 
couraging him to talk upon every subject that oc- 
curred to his active enthusiastic mind ; read Latin 
and Greek with him and sometimes bits from the 

* Spence. 



276 The Story of English Literature 

French and Italian writers of the day, — Racine and 
Boileau were writing then in France, and a very 
clever society of ladies were known as "Les Pre- 
cieuses." All this was an education to young Pope 
and when, a few years later, he established himself in 
London he wrote in as finished and elegant a style as 
if he was a graduate from Oxford or Cambridge. 

In 171 1, one Mr. Lewis, an obscure bookseller in 
Russell Street, announced a poem by Mr. Alexander 
Pope, entitled An Essay on Criticism. The book has 
been read, talked of, quoted and admired all the 
world over since that day; but in 171 1 nobody knew 
"Mr. Alexander Pope," and it lay unnoticed on the 
bookseller's counter, while the young poet came daily 
from his lodgings to ask how it sold. 

" It will not sell ! " Lewis told him at last, with a 
certain contempt for the new author. 

Pope, in a rage, seized upon all the copies and di- 
rected them to every well-known nobleman in Eng- 
land. The result was that Lewis' shop was presently 
besieged by applications for the new poem, and it 
was noticed most favorably by Addison in The Spec- 
tator. 

Well then, you can understand how Mr. Pope was 
received among the literary and reading people of 
London. His slight figure was constantly seen at 



For Yoicng Readers. 277 

coffee-houses and in the fashionable drawing-rooms 
of the day. Addison, Steele, and the great Lord Bo- 
lingbroke were his friends, and his career was fairly 
begun. 

It is said that he was, to a certain degree, insincere 
in his manner with people ; but the insincerity was 
always about trifles. Lady Bolingbroke said he 
" played the politician about cabbages and turnips." 
He was by nature somewhat jealous and suspicious. 
Instead of disregarding his personal defects he fan- 
cied people were ridiculing them, and this made him 
quick to give or take offence ; but in spite of all that 
is said against his disposition, certain acts of his life, 
certain constant friendships, show how tender and lov- 
ing and generous he could be. 

Soon after the Essay on Criticism^ appeared the fa- 
mous Rape of the Lock, a poem founded on a very 
foolish incident. Lord Petre, a well-known noble- 
man of the day, had, half in fun, half in earnest^ 
stolen a lock of hair from Miss Arabella Fermor, a 
famous beauty. The jest was taken seriously by her 
family and produced an estrangement, though they 
had lived in great friendship up to this time. 

" A common acquaintance and well-wisher to them 
both," said Pope to Spence, " desired me to write a 
poem and make a jest of it and laugh them together 



ejS The Story of English Literature 

again. It was with this view I wrote The Rape of the 
Lock, which was well received and had its effect in 
the two families." 

The poem was read all over England. Its satire 
was, of course, very keen, and parts of it would be 
considered inelegant to-day ; but, although written in 
a jesting spirit, it contains some exquisite lines which 
are among Pope's very best. 

Many other poems followed, and then Pope began 
his famous translation of Homer, an immense under- 
taking. His friends subscribed largely for the work 
and he received enough from it to purchase his villa 
at Twickenham, a beautiful spot on the Thames 
about ten miles above London. His father had died 
and he was tenderly devoted to his mother, who came 
to live with him at Twickenham where they were very 
happy together. 

The villa, which was soon known to all the wits, 
statesmen, and scholars of the day, was not a large 
one but it was very comfortable. On one side it 
looked out upon the road ; on the other a pretty lawn 
sloped down to the river. There were three tunnels 
under the lawn, one of which Pope transformed by 
means of shells and glass into a grotto. The tunnels 
led to pleasure gardens which he had beautifully laid 
out, making a great improvement upon the stiff Dutch 



For You7ig Readers. 279 

style of landscape gardening which William and 
Mary had introduced. * 

At this time Pope was barely over thirty years of 
age, but his infirmities made him look older. He is 
always spoken of as a " little man," and as such, 
with a painful hump on his shoulders, with a well- 
featured but pale and rather careworn face, with a 
charming voice and slow, rather formal manners, we 
can picture him, well dressed in the fashion of the 
day, his wig carefully curled, his grey coat, his knee 
breeches, his linen and ruffles spotlessly neat, his 
high-heeled shoes, his three-cornered hat and gold- 
headed cane with silk tassel, all orderly and precise. 

When Pope retired to Twickei ham he drew around 
him a delightful circle of friends. Near by, at Rich- 
mond, was the palace of the Prince of Wales ( later 
George II. ) ; and his wife, the Princess Caroline, 
though rather an unprincipled woman or, at least, too 
much given to overlooking vice in the court society, 
was well educated, a brilliant talker and fond of 
scholarly men and women. 

The little court at Richmond was famous for its 
wit and beauty. The Ladies-in-Waiting were celebra- 



* " Pope's Villa" at Twickenham is still to be seen. The house has been 
almost entirely altered and rebuilt during the present century, but the grounds 
and grotto remain intact as Pope left them. The place was sold at auction 
April 1878, for ;^i4,ooo — about ^70,000. 



28o The Story of English Literature 

ted by all the poets of the day. Two of these, Mary 
Lepell and Mary Bellenden, were among the most 
beautiful women in England, and to the coterie was 
often added a third Mary, so that the trio were known 
as " the three Marys." " Saucy Molly," as Miss Le- 
pell was called, and " Beautiful Bellenden " were gay, 
light-hearted damsels, virtuous and well-principled in 
their conduct. The third Mary was Lady Mary 
Wortley Montague, and when she made her appear- 
ance at Richmond and Twickenham she was already 
famous as a traveler, a wit, and a beauty. 

Lady Mary was the daughter of the Earl of King- 
ston, and at an early age showed signs of the greatest 
precocity. Not only was she talented but extremely 
pretty, and her first introduction to society is quite fa- 
mous. It was at the " Kit-Kat " club. 

I have already mentioned this club, to which so 
many noted writers as well as wits and statesmen be- 
longed. It was made up of thirty-nine whig gentle- 
men, and the meetings were held at a tavern in Shire 
Lane kept by a famous cook named Christopher (or 
"Kit " ) Kat, from whom the club took its name. I 
might tell you page after page of entertaining stories 
about the people in this famous club and their say- 
ings and doings, but we must not neglect Lady Mary. 
Her father, the earl, was. one of the " Kit-Kats," and 



k 




miM^^ 



'jm 



m^:^ 



For Young Readers, 283 

one night when the club were drinking their usual 
toasts he was called upon to name a new beauty who 
should hold the place of honor for a year. The earl 
proposed his daughter, but the gentlemen declared 
they had never seen her. 

"Well then, you shall," cried the earl, and forth- 
with a servant was despatched to bring the little 
Lady Mary from her home, where she was fast a- 
sleep. 

The " Kit-Kats " waited for the arrival of the new 
beauty, and fancy their surprise when a pretty, fair- 
haired child, dressed in the then prevailing fashion 
for children, a pink silk gown, rather long, with a 
Watteau-pleated back and rich lace trimmings, was 
brought in and put down in the middle of the table 
according to the earl's commands. 

The thirty-nine gentlemen hailed her arrival with 
almost uproarious enthusiasm. She was handed 
about from one to another, amusing them with her 
witty little speeches and quaint questions ; and her 
bright, beautiful face certainly merited the toast 
which was unanimously drank in her honor. Her 
name was scratched upon the glass according to the 
usual custom, and little Lady Mary was taken home 
after an hour of such intense happiness, she used to 
say in after years, as she had never known since. 



284 The Story of English Literature 

She had but a dull life for years after that. Her 
father was a tyrannical man and tried to force her 
into a rich marriage with a man she hated ; but she 
was already privately engaged to a scholarly gentle- 
man, Mr. Edward Wortley, with whom she eloped 
while preparations for her wedding with the rich 
suitor were going on. 

Mr. Wortley was sent as ambassador to the East, 
and Lady Mary accompanied him on his travels. 
From Germany and Turkey she wrote delightful let- 
ters and descriptions which were afterwards pub- 
lished and became famous books ; and, returning to 
England, she introduced innoculation as a preventive 
of small-pox, a disease which had hitherto been terri- 
bly fatal, defying the skill of European physicians. 

She was very clever and brilliant in conversation, 
and at the same time graceful and beautiful in per- 
son, all of which, added to her fame as a traveler, 
made her a welcome addition to the Princess's circle 
at Richmond. At Pope's earnest desire Mr. Wortley 
purchased a house at Twickenham, and Lady Mary 
was soon established as one of the favorite Ladies-in- 
Waiting. Lord Hervey was a member of the coterie ; 
a handsome, clever but effeminate young man, who 
privately married " Saucy Miss Molly " and whom 
Pope ridiculed, later as " Lord Fanny. 



For Young Readers. 285 

Pope and Lady Mary used sometimes to row from 
Twickenham to Richmond, or to Hampton Court. 
Lord Hervey, Sir Robert Walpole, Miss Bellenden, 
the poet Gay, and sometimes Dean Swift, would meet 
them and enUven the rather dull routine of court at- 
tendance with gay conversation, which we wish had 
been recorded. 

" We all agreed," Pope said after one of these 
meetings, " that the life of a Maid-of-Honor was of 
all things the most miserable, and wished that every 
woman who envied it had a specimen of it. To eat 
Westphalia ham in the morning, ride over hedges 
and ditches on borrowed hacks, come home in the 
heat of the day with a fever . . . simper for an hour 
and catch cold in the Princess's apartment. From 
thence, as Shakespeare has it, to dinner with what 
appetite they may ; and, after that, till midnight, walk, 
work or think as they please. I can easily believe 
no lone house in Wales, with a mountain or rookery, 
is more contemplative than this Court ; and, as a 
proof of it, I need only tell you Miss Lepell walked 
with me three or four hours by moonlight and we met 
no creature of any quality but the King, who gave au- 
dience to the Vice Chamberlain, all alone, under the 
garden wall." 

But there were merry days to remember at Twick- 



286 The Story of English Literature 

enham, and even Hampton Court pleasures were re- 
gretted by Miss Bellenden after she married and left 
them forever. At Twickenham, Pope persuaded 
Lady Mary to sit for her portrait in her Turkish cos- 
tume to the famous Court painter, Sir Godfrey Knel- 
ler. 

The picture is very beautiful, and as we look at it 
now it suggests the days in which it was painted, call- 
ing up other pictures, other figures, and becomes, as 
it were, full of life and animation. We can fancy 
Lady Mary, lovely in gauze and satin, v/ith the becom- 
ing turban, standing in the centre of a large sumptu- 
ous room with a background of rich drapery, Knel- 
ler painting in quick careful strokes at his easel near 
the window, while little Pope, eager, admiring and 
enthusiastic, leans over his chair watching every pen- 
cil stroke and bit of color laid on. 

In and out of the scene come the merry, laughing 
court ladies, all of whom Kneller painted; the poet 
Gay, writer of pastorals ; Lord Hervey, who belonged 
to a race so peculiar that Lady Mary used to say the 
world was divided into "men, women and Herveys;" 
dignified, critical Mr. Wortley ; honest Doctor Garth; 
perhaps the good-natured German Queen herself. 

You can fancy them talking the while, not only of 
Kneller's painting of Lady Mary's novel costume but 




un^^J^-. 



Alexander Pope. 
[" This is the only portrait that was ever drawii of Mr. Pope at full length. 
It was done without his knowledge, as he was deeply engrossed in conversa- 
tion with Mr. Allen in the galler\', at Prior Park, by Mr. Hoare, who sat at the 
other end of the gallery. Pope would never have forgiven the painter had he 
known it : he was too sensible of the deformity of his person to altow the 
whole of it to be represented. This drawing, therefore, is exceedingly valua- 
ble as it is an unique of this celebrated poet." — From Warton^s Fdition of 
Pope, published 1797.] 



For Young Readers. 289 

of London topics of the day ; of the new books, sat- 
ires, poems, etc.. Pope saying something sharp and 
witty, Lady Mary retorting cleverly ; Lord Hervey, 
with an air of affectation, saying something really 
sensible j Molly Lepell and Miss, or ( as they then 
said of a young lady in society, ) Mrs. Bellenden la- 
menting some social disappointment, or complaining 
of the monotony of court life, or of the Prince of 
Wales' stupidities. 

It seems strange to turn away from these good-hu- 
mored friendships and learn that Pope afterwards 
quarrelled bitterly with Lady Mary and Lord Her- 
vey; and, not content with this, wrote some mali- 
cious satires in which Lady Mary was ridiculed as 
" Sappho " and Hervey as " Lord Fanny." 

Lady Mary protested that she never knew the 
cause of Pope's enmity ; but it probably rose from 
a simple occurence which shows how sensitive the 
poor little poet must have been. He was one day 
holding forth about his admiration for Lady Mary, 
and some of his flights of fancy, I suppose, struck 
her as absurd ; so she inconsiderately burst out 
laughing. This fact she herself related as the only 
reason she could think of for his hatred of her. The 
war between them was carried on quite publicly ; for, 
in those days, every personal quarrel among clever 



290 The Story of English Literature 

people got into print. Pope's satires on Lady Mary- 
were most vindictive and she retorted cruelly. All 
the town watched the unhappy contest, and, to this 
day, the friendship and hatred of the two are famous. 

Pope's most celebrated poem, the Essay o?t Man, 
was published in 1733. Through all the century it 
was looked upon as a model of elegant and finished 
verse ; and, even to this day, it is greatly admired, 
though the lines sound somewhat stiff and formal to 
modern ears. Not long after this, Pope united with 
Dean Swift in publishing three volumes of Miscella- 
nies, which provoked a torrent of rage and countless 
lampoons and libels from the minor writers and pub- 
lic men of the day. To all of these Pope replied in 
The Dunciad, one of the most stinging and powerful 
satires ever written. 

In The Dunciad he held up to ridicule the horde of 
petty scribblers who lived, wrote and starved in Grub 
Street, a miserable part of London. He dragged 
their wretched ways of life, their quarrels, lampoon- 
ing, and blackmail before the public. Some critics 
have thought Pope did literature a service in this; 
others that he degraded the honest toil of authors 
and made their poverty and hard lives appear only 
contemptible. However that may be, the subject 
seems to be unsuited to the pen of a great poet, and 



For Young Readers. 291 

much of the satire sounds malicious and cruel in the 
extreme. 

Cowper, a poet who came later, said he could hardly 
believe that the same hand which wrote The Duiiciad 
should have written The Dying Christian and the 
Universal Prayer^ in which occur these lines : 

" That mercy I to others show, 
That mercy show to me." 

Pope was true to many of his friends. He loved 
Gay, and Doctor Garth, and Bolingbroke devotedly, 
and they clung to him. He worshipped his mother 
and could never show her too much attention and 
honor ; but jealousy, and a contempt for his own per- 
sonal defects, which he exaggerated, made him bitter, 
and his fondness for the dangerous art of satire made 
him cruel to his enemies. 

Pope had begun his career in the reign of Queen 
Anne ; he had filled an honored place in the courts 
of George I. and George H. ; he lived to see Gay, 
Atterbury, Addison, Steele and the famous Duchess 
of Marlborough, "Queen Sarah," end their career. 
Isaac Newton, the great philosopher, had discovered 
the laws of Gravitation and Light and died while Pope 
was reaching the height of his fame. In his time Allan 
Ramsay, a Scotch poet, had become famous and es- 
tablished a literary circle in Edinburgh. Letter-writ- 



292 The Story of English Literature 

ing had become a popular art. Samuel Richardson 
had written Pamela^ the first famous English novel ; 
and Henry Fielding, a cousin of Lady Mary Wortley 
Montague, had answered it in a half-satirical novel 
called jfoseph Andrews. Pope lived to see all this ; 
but at last, enfeebled by disease, he withdrew almost 
entirely from public view to end his days at Twicken- 
ham. 

Bolingbroke, Spence, Hooke, and his old friend 
Mrs. Anne Arbuthnot, were with him at this time. 
We read of one day when he was carried down to the 
dinner-table to see them all together. Soon after this 
his illness increased ; he had only intervals of con- 
sciousness, but in these he was always asking lovingly 
for his friends. 

"It seemed," said Spence to Lord Bolingbroke, 
" as if his humanity had outgrown his understand- 
ing." 

" It was so," said Lord Bolingbroke, and then he 
added, Spence tells us, " I never in my life knew a 
man who had so tender a heart for his particular 
friends, or a more general friendship for mankind. 
I have known him these thirty years and value myself 
more for that man's love than — " Bolingbroke's 
voice was lost in tears, his head sank and he could 
say no more. 



For Young Readers. 293 

Just before he died, Pope said : ** I am so certain 
of the soul's being immortal that I seem to feel it 
within me, as it were, by intuition." 

In the evening of the same day, May 30tli, 1744, 
Pope grew gradually weaker ; but they did not know, 
Spence says, the exact time of his death, for his de- 
parture was so easy that it was imperceptible even 
to the standers-by. 



394 ^^ Story pf English Literature 



Writers oe the Period. 

Alexander Pope. 1688 — 1744. Poet. Wrote " Essay on 
Criticism;" "Rape of the Lock;" "Messiah;" "Essay on 
Man;" " Dying Christian ; " "Universal Prayer," etc. Trans- 
lations of the " Iliad " and " Odysse}''," ( aided by Browne and 
Fenton in the latter ) ; " The Dunciad " ( a satire ) ; " Miscella- 
nies," etc. 

Sir Isaac Newton. 1642 — 1727. Philosopher and scien- 
tist. Wrote a great many works on theoretical and applied 
science, chiefly in Latin. 

Joseph Addison. 1672 — 1719- Essayist and poet. Wrote 
many prose essays for the "Tatler, Spectator, Guardian," etc. 
Poems : " The Campaign " ; " Tragedy of Cato," etc. ; four 
hymns and various Latin odes. 

Sir Richard Steele. 1671 — 1729. Essayist. Chiefly 
known as the originator of the Tatler^ Spectator, Guardian, to 
which he contributed. 

Jonathan Swift, Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin. 1667 — 
1745. Clergyman, humorist, and essayist. Wrote "Gulliver's 
Travels ; " " The Tale of a Tub ; " and various political and sa- 
tirical papers. Edited The Examiner. 

Daniel Defoe. 1661 — 1731. Wrote Robinson Crusoe;" 
"The Journal of the Plague." 



For Young Readers. 295 

Matthew Prior. 1664 — 1721. Poet. Wrote (aided by 
Montagu ) "The Country Mouse and the City Mouse " ( a sat- 
ire upon Dryden's Hind and Panther ) , " Carmen Seculare ; " 
" Solomon and Alma," etc. 

John Gay. 1688 — 1732. Poet. Wrote "The Shepherd's 
Week " ( In six pastorals ) ; also " The Beggar's Opera ; " and 
an opera called "Polly." 

James Thompson. 1700 — 1748. Poet. Wrote " The Sea- 
sons ; " "The Castle of Indolence," etc. 

Richard Savage. 1696 — 1743. Poet. Wrote " The Wan- 
derer," etc. 

George Farquhar. 1678 — 1707. Dramatist. 

CoLLEY CiBBER. 1671 — 1751. Poet Laureate to George II. 
Actor and dramatist. Gibber condensed and revised many of 
Shakespeare's plays so as to adapt them better for the stage. 
His "acting version" of Shakespeare is the one used in thea- 
tres to-day. 

Jeremy Collier. 1650 — 1726. Clergyman and moralist. 
Chiefly known for his attack on the dramatists of the Restora- 
tion. 

John Arruthnot, M. D. 1675 — ^734- ^'^'^ "^"^^ scholar. 
Wrote "History of John Bull " (a satire on the Duke of Marl- 
borough. 

Ephraim Chambers. — 1740. Scholar and founder of 
Chamber's Cyclopaedia. 

Hknry St. John, Tord Bolingbroke. 1678 — 1751. Politi- 
cal writer and speaker. 

Francis Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester. 1662 — 1732. 
Intimate friend of Pope, Swift, etc., and celebrated for his ser- 
mons and letters. 

Richard Bentlfy. 1661 — 1742. Master of Trinity Col- 
lege, Cambridge, and Regius Professor of Divuiity. The great- 
est classical critic of his day in England. 

Joseph Butler. D. D, 1692 — 1752. Wrote the " Analogy 
of Religion, Natural and Revealed, to the Constitution and 
Course of Nature," 



296 The Story of English Literature 

Philip Doddridge. 1702 — 1751. Dissenting Clergyman. 
Wrote "Evidences of Christianity," etc. 

Minor Writers. 

Sir Richard Blackmore. 1650 — 1729. Poet and essay- 
ist. Wrote "Tlie Creation" ( a pliilosophical poem) etc. 

Thomas TicKELL. 1686 — 1740. Wrote " Colin and Lucy " 
( a ballad ) ; and an " Elegy on Addison j " translated the first 
book of Homer's " Iliad." 

Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe. 1674 — r737, and Mrs. Mary As- 
TELL. 166S — I73I' Wrote religious and moral books with a 
view to improving the condition of womankind. 

Minor Dramatists. 
Theophilus Cibber, Mrs. Charlotte Clarke, Thomas South- 
erne, Thomas D'Urfey, John Dennis, Mrs. Susannah Centlivre, 
Mrs. Catherine Cockburu, Robert Dodsley. 

Miscellaneous Writers. 

Earl of Shaftesbury ; George Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne ; 
William Pulteney, Hon. Charles Boyle, Conyers Middleton, 
Ambrose Phillips, Nicholas Rowe, Rev. Robert Blair, John 
Hughes, George Granville, William Walsh, Elijah Fenton, Sir 
Samuel Garth, Gilbert West, William Broome, Isaac Browne, 
Thomas Cook. * 

•The above are the only important writers of Pope's period. 



For Young Readers 297 



XL 

DOCTOR JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES. [1709 — 1784.] 

A glance at Johnson's nature, appearance and career — Early 
days at Lichfield — Touched by Queen Anne for "King's 
Evil " — Goes to Oxford University — His singular mar- 
riage — Opens a school — David Garrick as a pupil and com- 
rade — Johnson enters the literary world of London ; its sa-d 
condition — Starving authors in Grub Street — Richardson^ 
the printer and novelist — Genius and patronage — Fashion 
and luxury of the town — Johnson writes for The Rambler 
and the Gentleman'' s Magazine — Compiles his famous dic- 
tionary — Death of his wife — Johnson receives a pension 
from George in. — His first meeting with Boswell — Tom 
Davies' dinner and tea-parties — Leicester Square in 1766; 
a dinner with Sir Joshua Reynolds — A midnight revel with 
" Beau " and '* Lanky " — Burke, the statesman and a nota- 
ble company. 

FROM Pope we come to a man who ruled the Eng- 
lish world of letters for quarter of a century ; and 
his very name, Samuel Johnson, calls up memories 
of a host of noted people among whom he lived as 



298 The Story of English Literature 

oracle, critic, friend. When I look at his long and 
curious career I hesitate how to introduce him to you. 
Whether as the Lichfield schoolmaster, starved out 
and coming to London to seek his fortune, the strug- 
gling poet and literary hack in Grub Street, the busy 
editor in the great room over St. John's Gate, the 
rising essayist, the oracle of the coffee-house, the 
philosopher hidden in his garret at work, the autocrat 
of tea-parties and clubs, the faithful affectionate 
friend, the merciless critic, the quaint traveller, the 
angry loud-voiced pedant, the gentle Christian — he 
was so many things, he led so many lives, I may say, 
for he seemed to combine in his ponderous person 
character enough for a dozen men. In the days we 
are to know him best, we must picture him as a great, 
burly man, with a face scarred by illness, a nervous 
manner, a rolling gait, a rich, sonorous voice, and un- 
der a gruff manner the tenderest heart imaginable. 
We have to think of him ruling a club dinner, dining 
at a famous painter's in Leicester Square, supping at 
the '' Mitre " tavern in Fleet Street, sought after, 
watched, respected, feared, the great man of letters 
and social lion, while around him are grouped states- 
men, artists, poets, dramatists and novelists of the 
reign of George IIL He is always the central figure, 
his voice the one that lingers longest in our ears; but 



For Young Readers. 299 

something must first be told you of his early days, be- 
fore this season of social prosperity began, and during 
the time when authorship had sunk to a level very pit- 
iful in that dismal region of Grub Street. 

Samuel Johnson seems scarcely to have had any 
youth. He was born at Lichfield, in 1709. His fa- 
ther was a bookseller, well thought of, but poor. The 
boy was painfully delicate, nervous and inclined to 
indolence His school fellows, we are told, humoring 
his fancies, carried him to school, sometimes, two of 
them walking together and making a sort of chair for 
him, with their arms and shoulders. In those days 
it was still a superstition that a touch from the sover- 
eign could heal certain diseases ; and, believing in 
this, honest Michael Johnson carried his boy up to 
London, that he might see Queen Anne. When Dr. 
Johnson was an old man he used to recall the scene ; 
the palace corridor, glittering and stately, the Queen, 
a fair lady, in a long black hood, and sparkling with 
jewels, who stretched out a round arm, touching his 
head with her hand. Unfortunately the cure did not 
follow. Johnson grew to manhood, and reached old 
age afflicted with nervous illness and a tendency to 
melancholy. 

We must only glance over his young days. He 
went to Lichfield Grammar school, and then, through 



300 The Story of English Literature 

some friends'* kindness, to Oxford. At the University- 
he was a proud, melancholy lad, whom the gay and 
rich young gentlemen in his class treated v/ith some 
disdain. The Lichfield boy, destined to be famous, 
shrank from joining in sports or festivities to which 
he could bring only talent, and so he passed by un- 
noticed or forgotten. His father's death ; his mar- 
riage at the age of twenty-seven to an elderly widow . 
his search for work ; his opening a school ; all these 
events come in quick succession. In the Ge7itleman's 
Magazine m 1736, appeared the following advertise. 
ment : 

At Edial, near Lichfield, in Staffordshire, young gentlemen 
are boarded and taught the Greek and Latin Languages by Sam- 
uel Johnson. 

The school failed dismally ; but one of his pupils 
was his friend as well — a slight, lithe young fellow 
with a shrewd, gay countenance, a wonderful knack 
of imitation and recitation, and whose name, David 
Garrick, was destined to become famous. Twenty 
years later, in England, about 1773, Johnson and Gar- 
rick determined together to try their luck in London. 

It must have been, I think, a notable journey. 
Johnson, grave beyond his years, yet with plenty of 
fun lying hidden under his solemn exterior; "Davy" 
as Garrick was always called, full of pranks and gai- 



For Young Feaders. 301 

ety j and the plain-featured stout Airs. Johnson, who 
worshipped her husband and was adored in return : 
these three set off in the stage coach for London j 
Johnson with nothing better in his pocket than a MS. 
tragedy, and Garrick armed with a few letters of in- 
troduction. When they arrived in the metropolis 
their paths diverged. Johnson turned to literature, 
Garrick to the wine trade which he soon left for the 
stage. 

What did literature at that day (1737) signify? 
The " Augustan Era " of Queen Anne's reign had 
passed away ; authors were to be counted by dozens, 
but they were starving in Grub Street. Poets, essay- 
ists, philosophers, who were not yet famous, were con- 
tent to sleep on a bench at a public house, glad to 
possess two-pence for a morning meal ; with them, 
work was profitable only when they got a rich patron 
to whom, with a great flourish, they dedicated their 
verses or essays. 

We read of Boyse, a good enough writer in his 
way, sitting up in bed, with his arms through two 
holes in a blanket, waiting for his dinner. Otway, 
the dramatist, died of starvation. Richard Savage, 
a man of genius, ended a miserable life in jail. Grub 
Street was a poverty-stricken place, and for writers of 
moderate skill there was little hope indeed. 



302 The Story of English Literature 

Some few literary men were well-known and pros- 
perous like Richardson, the author of Pamela^ who 
kept a printing establishment which kept him ; Field- 
ing, the author of Joseph Andrews ; Young, the au- 
thor of Night Thoughts ; Collins, the poet, and Hume 
the historian. These men were all well-known. 

Music was popular ; cheap periodicals were popu- 
lar ; satire and lampooning were popular ; but pat- 
ronage of the right sort was not popular, and even 
genius had hard work to live. Such was the state of 
the literary world when Johnson came to try his for- 
tune in London. 

Outside of Grub Street the town was never so gay 
and splendid. Beautiful new squares had been built 
on every side ; social life was delightful. It was the 
fashion in those days for ladies to study the art of 
conversation ; and how enchanting they must have 
been in their rich brocades and high powdered wigs, 
with their soft lace, and patches, and high-heeled 
shoes, and painted fans. The gentlemen, too, were 
as fine as masquerade rs, and as gallant and elegant 
as the figures in a court picture. The King and 
Queen were more German than English in their 
tastes. The Prince of Wales was a riotous pleasure- 
seeker. Society outside of the poor scribbler's quarter 
was as bold, and brilliant, and splendid as a fairytale. 



For Young Readers. 303 

But poor Johnson saw nothing of society then. 
He went to work at one thing after another ; wrote 
poems, edited a semi-weekly paper called The Ram- 
bler, and for three years was quite nnnoticed. Dur- 
ing a part of this time he was connected with the 
Gentleman^ s Magazine;^ and you can see to-day the 
great room over the ancient St. John's Gate, Clerken- 
well, where he toiled and slaved. 

Finally he began the compiling of an English Dic- 
tionary, and it was this work which made him fa- 
mous. It was an immense labor, both for the author 
and the publishers, and Johnson's gruff ness must 
more than once have come to the surface. When 
the last sheet was carried to the publisher. Johnson 
inquired of the messenger : 

" What did he say ? " 

" Sir," answered the boy, "he said 'Thank God, I 
have done with him ! ' " 

"I am glad," said Johnson, " that he thanks God 
for anything ! " * 

Other works of various kinds, essays, reviews, and 
the like, followed ; but he was known as " Dictionar}^ 
Johnson," and, excepting " Rasselas," a story, and 
his "Lives of the Poets" written later, it is the last 

* Still in existence. 

* Leslie Stephen's *' Samuel Johnson." 



304 The Story of English Literature 

literary work of value in his life. It lifted him at 
once into fame. 

But soon after he knew a real grief. His " dear 
Letty," the elderly but beloved wife, died, and he 
mourned her truly to his last hour. He supported al- 
ways an old woman she had been fond of j he wrote 
most lovingly to his step-daughter ; little trifles, books 
and the like which had been hers, he labelled " My 
dear Letty's," " My beloved wife's " etc., and laid 
them away sacredly from dust and sight. Those who 
knew only the gruff man, powerful in language, apt 
to be contemptuous and domineering, forgot some- 
times that, beneath it all, a heart tender and constant 
was beating with friendliness for those he loved, and 
with patient remembrance of an old sorrow. 

When George IH. came to the throne Johnson re- 
ceived a pension of ;^3oo ($1500) a year; a sum 
quite sufficient for all his daily needs. His circle of 
friends now widened upon every side. Henceforth 
we have to think of him as a man of society; the 
chief in every circle, the friend of all the famous peo- 
ple of the day. 

It was in 1763 that Johnson met the man whose 
name is famous as his biographer. 

James Boswell was a young Scotchman with a ma- 
nia for the society of great people. But his great am- 



For Yotmg Reorders. 305 

bition was to meet and know Johnson. One evening 
in May, Boswell was invited, for the purpose, to tea in 
the parlor behind Mr. Davies' bookshop in Russell 
Street, Covent Garden. Davies was quite well- 
known to the literary men of the day. He was fond 
of giving them fine dinners, and they did not disdain 
to drink tea in his back parlor with Mrs. Davies, — a 
pretty woman and quite a wit, — in a gay flowered 
chintz gown tucked up over a white laced petticoat, 
with mitts and a fan, and a tremendous edifice of curls 
and puffs on her head, making the tea and serving 
them with it in delicate egg-shell china cups, while a 
black boy stood by with his salver of cake and a bit 
of damson tart for the gentlemen. 

On this May evening Boswell kept an anxious eye 
upon the door which, at last, swung open with a vig- 
orous push. Boswell, looking out, saw a great, burly, 
middle-aged man coming in with a rolling gait, laugh- 
ing good-naturedly as Davies rushed to meet him ; 
then drawing his face up curiously, peering into the 
parlor, twitching his hands with a nervous air, frown- 
ing, puffing, laughing all together; his voice deep 
and sonorous, and, despite his slovenly dress, the in- 
firmity of his health, his evident eccentricities, having 
a dignity which commanded respect. He stopped 
short and looked somewhat contemptuously at the ea- 



3o6 



The Story of English Literature 



ger young man from Scotland, who was ready to fall 
down upon the ground and worship him. 

" Don't tell him where I come from, " Boswell whis^ 
pared to Davies, for he knew Johnson's hatred of 
Scotland. 

" From Scotland," cried Davies in sport. 
" Mr. Johnson," said Boswell, " I do indeed come 
from Scotland, but I cannot help it." 

" That, sir," retorted Johnson, " I find is what a 
good many of your countrymen cannot help ! " 

But in spite of some disagreements this first even- 
ing, the two were soon 
friends. Boswell hung 
upon Johnson, following 
him, tormenting, pleas- 
ing, bothering, amusing 
him. He was one of the 
vainest, silliest of men ; 
yet he contrived to write 
one of the most enter- 
taining biographies ever 
penned, when Johnson 
was dead and gone. 
"Who is that Scotch 
cur at Johnson's heels ? " was asked of Goldsmith. 
" He is not a cur," said Goldsmith in gentle scorn, 




For Young Readers. 307 

" He is only a burr. Tom Davies flung him at John- 
son in sport and he has the faculty of sticking." 

Yet there is no doubt Johnson was fond of him in 
a sort of way, although he was ready enough to make 
sport of him. On one occasion in company, Johnson 
was repeating some of the Dunciad^ and Boswell ven- 
tured to say the lines were too good, — " too fine for 
such a poem — a poem on what ? " said Boswell, 

" Why," said Johnson, " on Dunces. It was 
worth while being a dunce in those days. Ah, sir ! " 
he added, "hadst thou lived in those days ! " 

But who were the great men belonging to John- 
son's fam.ous circle ? Who were its wits, its gentle- 
men of fashion, its scholars, artists, statesmen ? If 
in fancy we picture Leicester Square on some spring 
evening about 1766, I think we shall find that a 
goodly company is assembling at a large, dignified- 
looking mansion, now Number Forty-seven. The 
rooms are still spacious \ the stair-case massive oak ; 
the windows wide and massive ; but all the mirth, 
the dignity, the splendor of the old days has van- 
ished. 

Had we arrived on the evening in question, one 
hundred years ago, liveried servants both black and 
white would have received us. We should have been 
lighted up a staircase hung with pictures and ush- 



3o8 The Story of English Literature 

ered into a stately drawing-room where the famous 
painter, Sir Joshua Reynolds, would have received 
us ; for he was the master of the old house in Leices- 
ter Square whither so many steps were directed. 

Picture him a gracious gentleman in a suit of buff 
satin and white lace, with an embroidered waistcoat, 
a diamond buckle, a powdered wig. His face is 
kindly, handsome and serene. I have just been look- 
ing at the portrait he painted of himself and I think 
I would like to have had his friendship, to have held 
his hand, and listened to the tones of his sweet, affec- 
tionate voice. 

Sir Joshua was one of the prosperous men of the 
day. Dukes and duchesses sought his acquaintance ; 
but he was always simple in himself, quite free from 
affectation, and generous and kindly to all whom he 
met. His portraits have come down to us like he- 
roes and heroines of a romance in his time. Beauti- 
ful women, noble-looking men, sweet, dimpled chil- 
dren ; and, in all, we see a touch of that which made 
the. people he lived among call him "the sweet Sir 
Joshua." 

And who are the guests at Sir Joshua's dinner ? 
There are Johnson and Boswell, of course, the for- 
mer holding forth on some subject of the hour. Near 
by are lounging two handsome young men, foppish in 



For Young Readers. 



309 



dress, dandified in air, yet they are Johnson's de- 
voted admirers, Topham Beauclerk and Bennet Lang- 
ton. The devotion of these two young men to John- 




:^t^$^ 



Sir Joshua Reynolds. 



son shows how gay and hght a side there must have 
been to the " old bear's " nature. 

One night " Beau " and " Lanky," as Johnson 
called them, had been supping together at a tavern, 
and about three in the morning they started off for 



3IO The Story of English Literature 

Johnson's rooms. They pounded at the door and 
Johnson appeared in his night-cap and armed with a 
poker. " Beau " and " Lanky " called out to him to 
join them. 

" What ! is that you, you dogs 1 " cried Dr. John- 
son, " I'll have a frisk with you ! " And away he flew, 
dressed himself in an old suit of clothes, and, pres- 
ently, behold the three going down Covent Garden, 
where the fruit and flower venders were just appear- 
ing with their blooming cart-loads to sell at day- 
break. They stopped at a tavern and brewed a 
bowl of punch ; then took a boat to Billingsgate 
where the morning broke upon them in rich splendor. 
Langton deserted them to go off to a breakfast-party, 
but the great man and " Beau " kept up the frolic till 
mid-day. 

" He'll be in The Chronicle for this," said Garrick 
when he heard of it. 

Walking about Covent Garden to-day, we can fancy 
it echoing to the doctor's peals of laughter, to the fun 
and frolic of that night. One can see the queer trio 
— the elegant, be-ruffled young men and the great, 
broad-shouldered, carelessly-dressed figure of John- 
son, his arms locked in theirs, his wit alive, his laugh- 
ter as merry as a school-boy's. 

But we must return to Sir Joshua's dinner-party. 
Near to Sir Joshua sits the poet Oliver Goldsmith 



JFor Younz Readers. 



311 



whose story, associated as it is with Johnson's, will 
come soon. And next is Mr. Burke, a young Irish- 
man, known among literary men as the author of an 
Essay on the Beautiful and the Sublime) later, famous 
as the champion of the colonies in America and the 




greatest orator in the English House of Commons. 
And near by sits Horace Walpole, cynical, dignified, 
languid in air, talking in an undertone with Dr. Bar- 
ney, a great musical authority, about the latest so- 
ciety gossip of the day ; telling, no doubt, how Lady 
Mary Wortley Montague was growing " hideous " and 



312 The Story of English Literature 

2l " mere gossiper." But Walpole hated Lady Mary, 
and his dislikes were always expressed with venom. 
Late in the evening in comes Garrick from the 
play, smiling, good-natured after his triumphs as 
King Richard. 

The party breaks up amidst much laughter, wis- 
dom, folly and friendliness. We can fancy Johnson 
and Goldsmith and Boswell going out together, cross- 
ing Leicester Square, where "link boys" were run- 
ning hither and thither with torches or waiting to be 
hired; where sedan chairs were jostling each other; 
where coaches were lumbering by as the fine people 
of fashion returned from " Ranelagh " or " Vauxhall 
Gardens," or from some " Rout " as balls were then 
called. 

Would we not like to have seen the prim old square 
at such an hour, brilliant with life and beauty ; echo- 
ing to Johnson's footsteps, to Goldsmith's good-hu- 
mored nonsense, to Garrick's bold sallies ? Perhaps 
these three made their way to the " Mitre Tavern " 
in Fleet Street, before bidding good night. I can 
imagine Dr. Burney, the musician, turning down from 
the Square into St. Martin's Street, where he lived in 
the house Newton had formerly occupied, and where 
his clever daughter Fanny was writing away in her 
room up-stairs with bits of candle saved and hidden 
for the purpose. 



For Young Readers. 313 

Pass by Grub Street. Let us forget its toils and 
miseries, its petty mean ways. Look at these men of 
genius assembling together. Think of their ga}^, 
kindly friendship, their faces, their voices, their court- 
eous fine airs or their awkward simplicity. When 
you read the books or look at the pictures they have 
left us, try to go back to their days and picture the 
scenes in which they lived, and wrote, and painted, 
and out of which they have vanished. 



3 14 The Story of English Literature 



From Dr. Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes. 

On what foundation stands the warrior's pride, 

How just his hopes, let Swedisli Charles decide. 

A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, 

No dangers fright him, and no labours tire . 

O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, 

Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain. 

No joys to him pacific sceptres yield; 

War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; 

Behold surrounding Kings their powers combine, 

And one capitulate, and one resign. 



For You7ig Readers 315 



XIL 



DR JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES. II. 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH. [1728-I774.] 

Parentage — Early struggles in London — Employed by Rich- 
ardson, the novelist-printer — The Bee — Letters of a Chinese 
philosopher — The Citizen of the World — First meeting be- 
tween Goldsmith and Dr. Johnson — Goldsmith in society — 
The "Literary Club " and its famous members — "Goldy" 
at work on The Traveler — His foolish manners — Johnson 
rescues him from his landlady — The Vicar of Wakefield — 
The Jessamy Bride — A tailor's bill one hundred years ago — 
First performance oi She Stoops to Conquer — Goldsmith's 
histories — Anecdote of Gibbon — Goldsmith's death and 
funeral. 

ONE of the guests at the dinner-party of Sir 
Joshua, sketched in the last chapter, was Ol- 
iver Goldsmith; poet, novelist and dramatist; 
one of Dr. Johnson's dearest friends, one whom he 
loved even when he reproved, and who looked to him 



3i6 The Story of English Literature 

with reverence and the honest affection of an Irish 
heart. In the London of Johnson's day, in those 
busy thoroughfares about Fleet street and the Tem- 
ple, and the poorer lanes and courts branching off 
therefrom, in and out of the " Mitre " tavern, pa- 
tiently toiling up steep flights of steps to his garret 
lodgings. Goldsmith's awkward figure and honest, 
kindly face were often seen : he had a word for every 
poor creature he passed, if not a penny which he 
could ill afford j a laugh, a jest, a simple foolish word 
for the great men, who richer, stronger, wiser than 
he, yet loved him with something tender and pitying 
in their love. It is a sad enough story; I pause 
before it with a sense of the patience, the sweetness, 
the sadness of that poor figure among those wise and 
witty gentlemen of one hundred years ago : but when 
we think of what Goldsmith wrote, his pure verse, 
his wonderful novel, The Vicar of Wakefield^ we for- 
get all else in the praise and admiration tiiat is due 
to him. 

Oliver Goldsmith was born at Pallas, in the 
County of Longford, Ireland, in 1728. He was the 
son of an Irish Protestant Clergyman, of good fam- 
ily but poor. I cannot follow with you all Oliver's 
boyhood ; you would find the story, however, full of 
interest ; but we must look at him as a man and an 



F(Jr You?ig Readers. 317 

author in the London of Dr. Johnson's day. It was 
in February, 1756, that Goldsmith after a vagabond 
journey found himself in London; he had tried 
various professions without success; but having re- 
ceived a doctor's degree, made up his mind to begin 
his English career as a physician. He sought em- 
ployment at various chemists; but they laughed at 
his shambling figure and awkward speech, his thread- 
bare coat and pitiful face ; but one chemist at last 
sent him a patient, and soon after an old school- 
fellow met him in a London street dressed in quite a 
gay green -and-gold coat, declaring he was on the 
high road to success. But his efforts were in vain ; 
he was so ill fed and poverty-stricken that his poorest 
patients found him out : one of these was a printer 
by trade, and while Dr. Goldsmith was attending him 
he ventured to say that his '' master was very kind to 
clever gentlemen." 

"And who is your master? " cried poor Goldsmith. 

"He is Mr, Richardson," the man answered, "who 
has a printing-house in Salisbury Court, and writes 
novels," 

Goldsmith sought the kind-hearted printer who 
offered him emplo3^ment as his reader : more than 
that he was admitted to Richardson's parlor behind 
the shop, where he began to meet the literary men of 



3r8 The Story of English Liter ahtre 

the day. Richardson never aimed at being a gentle-' 
man, although he wrote Sir Charles Madison^ a novel 
which has a very fine gentleman for its hero. He 
must have been a curious man, egotistical, but very 
good-hearted. While he was writing Pamela, he 
used to read it aloud in MS. to an admiring circle 
of lady friends ; he sitting in the centre dressed in 
an absurd morning gown, slippers and embroidered 
cap. As soon as Pamela appeared it became " the 
rage " ; ladies of fashion would carry volumes of it 
to Ranelagh or Vauxhall Gardens, and there tri- 
umphantly display their possessions to less fortunate 
friends. There is too much of the coarseness of 
Richardson's day in his novels and those of Fielding 
and Smollett, who followed him, to make them agree- 
able reading to-day ; but Richardson is called the 
"Father of the English novel.'' 

Goldsmith seems not to have remained long with 
Richardson, but he turned his attention to literature 
as a means of subsistence. All sorts of stories are 
told of him at this time. We see him writing to 
order for a narrow-minded bookseller who watched 
every word and every penny : next in Green Arbour 
Court, a wretched alley in which he occupied a bare 
garret, grown familiar to all the ragged children and 
poor women of the neighborhood. He was so 



For Young Readers. 319 

threadbare in dress that he dared not venture out by 
daylight, but when dusk came OHver would make 
his way into the courtyard to gratify the children 
with a few sweetmeats and the parents with a gay 
Irish tune on his flute, though he knew not where he 
was to get his supper. In this cheerless, vagabond 
sort of way his life went on for a time, but we soon 
hear of him as engaged on a periodical called The 
Bee which was somewhat better than the dozens of 
second-rate papers then floating about London. In 
this he chanced to write something pleasant of Pere- 
grine Pickle, one of Smollett's novels. Smollet was 
about starting a new magazine, to be published by 
his friend Newberry, and desired Goldsmith's assis- 
tance. He found Green Arbour Court, made his way 
amid the wrangling of washerwomen, the cries of 
babies and fights of small boys, up the stone steps 
to Oliver's garret, a bare, shabby room with no touch 
of home or life in it save the one figure of the author, 
who stood up, pen in hand, to receive Smollett and 
his proposition. The result of the interview was 
that Goldsmith wrote not only for this magazine, but 
contributed to a daily paper called the Public Ledger 
a series of charming letters. These were supposed 
to be written by a Chinese philosopher visiting Lon- 
don; they were afterwards republished with others, 



32 o The Story of English Literature 

in two volumes entitled The Citizen of the World; 
wherein certain delightful characters, the " Man in 
Black," ''Beau Gibbs," etc., become to us, as we 
read, as real and life-like as Addison's dear old " Sir 
Roger de Coverley." 

It was about this time that the first notable meet- 
ing took place between Goldsmith and Dr. Johnson. 
I suppose they had seen each other before, but 
certainly in no formal fashion, until Mr. Percy, 
the author, arranged to bring them together. The 
day fixed upon was May 31, 1761, and Goldsmith 
was to give a supper. At the appointed hour, Percy 
called for the doctor at Inner Temple Lane ; fancy 
his surprise upon finding Johnson, usually so slov- 
enly in dress, quite a pattern of neatness j he had on 
a new suit of clothes, " a new wig, nicely powdered," 
says Percy, " and everything about him quite unlike 
himself ! " Percy could not forbear asking him what 
it all meant. 

" Why, sir," said Johnson, " I hear that Goldsmith, 
who is a very great sloven, justifies his disregard of 
cleanliness and decency by quoting my practice ; and 
I am desirous this night to show him a better exam- 
ple !" 

Unfortunately the example set was not a good one 
for Oliver ; who, it appears, bloomed forth soon after 



For Young Readers, 321 

in some very brilliant attire, for which his tailor, 
Filby, sent his bill in vain. Goldsmith had mean- 
while left Green Arbour Court and gone to live in 
better quarters in Wine Office Court. He was now 
associated with the leading literary men of the day 
in whose society we can pleasantly think of him. 

Ini763 the famous " Literary Club " was started. 
Sir Joshua Reynolds suggested it to Dr. Johnson. 
Fourteen years before Johnson had established a 
club in Ivy Lane, but the members had either died 
or been dispersed. He caught at Reynold's idea, 
and spoke of it to Burke, who was at that time living 
in Queen Anne Street, not yet a famous man but 
well known and greatly admired by his friends. 
Burke was deli^'hted with the suo^gestion and asked 
leave to introduce his father-in-law. Dr. Nugent, a 
Roman Catholic physician. Mr. Hawkins, an old 
member of the Ivy Lane Club, was also invited to 
join, and so were " Beau " and " Lanky " and Sir 
Joshua Reynolds ; Chamier, one of the Secretaries of 
the Cabinet, became a member, and Goldsmith com- 
pleted the number. Just as the club was ready 
to be inaugurated an old member of the Ivy Lane 
returned unexpectedly to England, and he was greeted 
with cheers by the little coterie. They decided to 
limit their number to twelve, and the place chosen 



322 The Story of English Literature 

for their meetings was the "Turk's Head'" tavern in 
Gerrard street, Soho, where they used to assemble 
every Monday night, at seven o'clock, and take turns 
in presiding in the chair of state.* So commenced 
one of the most famous clubs ever known. As time 
passed, it came to be considered the greatest honor 
to be elected to membership of the "Literary," and 
it is said when Boswell was a candidate he could 
neither sit still, eat nor sleep, until his fate was de- 
cided. Politics were excluded, but the reputation of 
the club as "talkers" spread far and wide. Burke 
must have had a marvelous fascination of manner. 
Johnson said that if he were to take refuge with a 
stranger under a shed for five minutes, during a 
shower, " his companion would be sure to think him 
an extraordinary man." Burke talked brilliantly, but 
still he used to say Johnson did better. Somebody 
once expressed regret, in his presence, that Johnson 
had talked instead of Burke • " It was enough for 
me," said the generous Irishman, "to have rung the 
bell for him ! " 

Through various ups and downs Goldsmith went on, 
kindly, merry as ever, always in debt, always in good 

*Later the evening was changed to Friday, and the meetings were held 
once a fortnight, on]y, during the Parliamentary season. The club is still in 
existence, and after many changes is known as "The Club " and meets at the 
Clarendon, in London. 



For Young Readers. 323 

humor. For some time he was at work in Islington, 
a part of London which was then quite in the suburbs, 
with green fields and blossoming hedgerows on every 
side. Here was the abode of one Mrs. Flemming, 
with whom he lodged from time to time. One day 
Sir Josliua, tliinking it time lie heard something of 
" Goldy," as the club was fond of calling him, went 
out to IsUngton to look him up. He knocked at 
" Goldy's " door, but received no answer ; so he 
opened the door softly, and then stopped to smile at 
what he saw. Tliere sat Goldsmith at his desk, in 
" rough and tumble " dress, his head turned ludi- 
crously, his honest face beaming with good-natured 
fun while he held up his hand to guide a little absurd- 
looking dog in the performance of some tricks. 
Reynolds saw that he had been writing and ap- 
proaching quietly looked over his shoulder. The 
ink was still wet upon these lines : — 

" By sports like these are all their cares beguiled, 
The sports of children satisfy the child." 

Goldsmidi sprang up to welcome his friend, who 
little knew he had come in upon the composition of 
a poem destined to such world-wide fame as The 
Traveller. On the 19th of December, 1764, the fol- 
lowing advertisement appeared in the Public Adver- 
tiser: 



324 ^^^ Story of English Literature 

*' This day is published, price 1-6, The Traveller, or A Pros- 
feet of Society; a poem by Oliver Goldsmith, M. B. Printed 
for J. Newberry, in St. Paul's Churchyard." 

The poem was a perfect success, but so simple, nay 
foolish, were " Goldy's" sayings and many of his 
actions, that some of the club doubted if he wrote 
it, and believed it to be partly the work of the 
great Doctor. Johnson was annoyed by this, and 
aggravated by Oliver's serene disregard of what was 
said of it, for he went to the club as usual and took 
no pains fo establish his claims. At the second 
meeting Chamier leaned across the table and said : 
" Mr. Goldsmith, what do you mean by the last word 
in the first line of your Traveller} 

' Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow.' 
Do you mean tardiness of locomotion ? " Goldsmith 
was rattling away at some nonsense and cared noth- 
ing for Chamier's question. "Yes," he answered 
carelessly; whereupon Johnson fired up for him and 
said : ^'No sir, you did not mean tardiness of locomo- 
tion, you meant that sluggishness of mind which 
comes upon a man in solitude." 

" Ah ! " said *"' Goldy " smiling good-humoredly. 
" Yes, that was what I meant." 

No wonder the club were inclined to doubt his 
authorship ; while Horace Walpole sneeringly called 
him an " inspired idiot." 



For Young Readers. 325 

And now comes the publication of Goldsmith's 
famous novel, The Vicar of Wakefield^ with the ap- 
pearance of which is associated a curious story : 
One day a messenger came to Johnson to say that 
Goldsmith was in great distress and desired to see 
his friend at once. Johnson sent a guinea and prom- 
ised to follow it at once. Let us give the story in 
his own words : — 

"I accordingly went as soon as I was dressed, and 
found that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, 
at which he was in a violent passion. I perceived 
that he had already changed my guinea and had got 
a bottle of Maderia and a glass before him. I put 
the cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm, 
and began to talk to him of the means by which he 
might be extricated. He then told me that he had a 
novel ready for the press, which he produced to me. 
I looked into it, saw its merits, and having gone to a 
book-seller, sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Gold- 
smith the money and he discharged his rent, not 
without raBng his landlady in a high- tone for having 
used him so ill." 

The novel was The Vicar of Wakefield, and in 
1766 it was published. No novel has ever, I may 
venture to say, taken its place as a pure, domestic 
story. It is simple, but touching and elevating in 



326 



The Story of English Literature 



tone, the characters as real as Hving beings. There 
is the Wakefield parson, with his family and friends, 
his beautiful faith in God, his trust in divine mercy, 
his simple devotion to his wife and children, his 
miseries and his joys, his absurdities and those of his 
family, all of these belong to the whole world to-day, 
and remembering the pure and gentle lessons of 
morality taught in Goldsmith's page, we must check 
our laughter, we must forget his follies. For a little 
time let us only pause, and say, we honor him. 

The Vicar of Wakefield and various other works 
which followed it, might 
have brought Goldsmith 
ease, but for his contin- 
ued imprudences. He 
went off on country visits ; 
at one house we may fancy 
him silently, but tenderly 
watchful of one young 
face that of Miss Hor- 
neck whom called the 
"Jessamy Bride," but to 
whom he never dared ut- 
ter a word of his devotion. 
He was welcomed with delight at these country 
homes, where he dressed in the most extravagant 




For Young Eeaders. 327 

fashion as bills of the same poor Filby will show. 
Here is one of them : 

Jan. 21. To Syrian bloom satin grain and garter 

blue breeches, £Z. 2. 7. 

Mar. 17. " Suit of clothes, — colour-lined with 

silk and gold buttons, 9. 7. o. 

" Suit of mourning, 5- -12 6. 

and "etceteras " without end. While he was on his 
country visits his friends delighted in playing tricks 
upon him, generally to the ruin of his "sprigged" 
and "sateen" garments, but no one could make him 
vexed or ill-natured. 

We must pass over the appearance of Goldsmith's 
still favorite play of The Good-Natured Man, which, 
after various difficulties was produced in 1768. The 
poem of The Deserted Village came next, and, in 1772, 
he sent to the manager's notice his since famous 
comedy, She Stoops to Conquer. 

In those days actors and actresses, as well as the 
managers of theatres, w-ere very difficult to deal with, 
and poor Goldsmith was kept some time in agony of 
mind, not knowing what would be the final decision. 
"I entreat," he wrote to Coleman, "you will relieve 
me from the state of suspense . . . take the play and 
let us make the best of it." 

This was finally done. The club set their clever 



328 The Story of English Literature 

brains together for a name for "Goldy's" play, as 
Dr. Johnson wrote a friend, and on the night of its 
first appearance, a great tavern dinner was given, 
presided over by Johnson. All the club were there, 
jesting with and encouraging Goldsmith ; but his 
painful anxiety was evident, even when he tried to 
laugh and say something in response. When all the 
rest made off for the theatre, Goldsmith, too wretched 
to join them, rushed off in the direction of Pall 
Mall, where a friend found him, later, struggling to 
keep up. At last he returned to the theatre, making 
his way in by a stage entrance. It so happened that 
the audience had been a very enthusiastic one, but as 
the poor author stole behind the scenes the one hiss 
of the evening reached his ears. He staggered and 
turned pale, but Coleman, the manager, called out, 
" Pshav.' ! Doctor, don't be afraid of a squib, when 
we've been sitting these two hours on a barrel of gun- 
powder ! " 

The success of the comedy was tremendous; " Did 
it make you laugh ? " Goldsmith nervously asked a 
friend; "Exceedingly," was the answer. "Then 
that is all I require ! " exclaimed poor "Goldy."* 

I wish that we might trace in these pages all the 
story of his life, but we must take leave of him with 

*Northcole's Life of Reynolds. 



For Young Readers. 329 

only a brief mention of later days. He wrote vari- 
ous histories, one, that of Animated Nature^ being 
specially famous, but his facts were often so absurdly 
incorrect that all later editions have been carefully 
revised. While he was w'riting his History of Greece^ 
Gibbon, the famous historian, called upon him at his 
rooms at the Temple. Goldsmith, who was at work, 
asked Gibbon the name of the Indian King who gave 
Alexander the Great so much trouble. " Montezu- 
ma," replied Gibbon, in sport. Whereupon Oliver 
gravely wrote it. down.* 

In spite of his reputation as an author, and wide 
circle of friends, the last years of his life were 
clouded by anxieties. His debts weighed upon him 
heavily. He was living in the Temple at Brick 
Court, and here one day he returned from a visit to 
Edgware, with a low nervous fever upon him. It 
was Friday, and he desired much to join his friends 
at the club ; but on making the effort to dress, he 
found he was too weary, and gave himself up to his 
last illness, 

" Is your mind at ease ?" the doctor asked him one 
evening. 

"No, it is not/' answered poor Goldsmith, and 
these a*-e the last words recorded of him. 

♦ Forcter's Life of Goldsmith- 



330 The Story of English Literature 

It was on Monday, April 4th, 1774, he died. 
Those who had been with him hastened to tell the 
news to his friends. Sir Joshua was at work in his 
studio, in Leicester Square; hearing the news he 
flung down his brush and quitted his room for the 
day. Burke, when told of it, burst into an agony of 
tears. Johnson spoke of Goldsmith's death for 
years as if the loss had been but yesterday's. While 
poor " Goldy " lay dead in the room above, the stair- 
case to Brick Court was crowded by the poor and 
miserable whom the gentle creature had encouraged 
or befriended. They passed in, these ragged, sorrow- 
ing friends, to look at him with tears and sobs and 
blessings on his name. The world outside remem- 
bered his follies with a pitying smile. "Was ever a 
poet so trusted ! " exclaimed Johnson ; and he might 
have added, " Was ever poet so beloved ! " 

He was buried in the Temple churchyard, quietly, 
because his debts were so numerous and well-known 
it was thought unwise to give an air of pomp and 
magnificence to his funeral ; but many stood sor- 
rowing about his tomb. When all were leaving, one 
man who had ridiculed the poet in life, was seen to 
linger, weeping violently, so strongly did " Goldy's " 
gentleness assert itself even to the mind of one who 
had laughed him to scorn. 



For Young Readers. 331 

The club met at Sir Joshua's to write their friend's 
epitaph. It is engraved under the marble medallion 
portrait of Goldsmith in the Poet's Corner, Westmin- 
ister Abbey, and perhaps it will be the most fitting 
ending to the little story I have told you : 

"'OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 

POET, NATURALIST, HISTORIAN, 

who left scarcely any kind of writing 

untouched, 

and touched nothing that he did not adorn : 

Whether smiles were to be stirred 

or tears, 

commanding our emotions, yet a gentle master: 

In genius lofty, lively, versatile, 

in style weight}', clear, engaging — 

The memory in this monument is cherished 

by the love of Companions, 

the faithfulness of Friends 

the reverence of Readers. 

He was born in Ireland, 

at a place called Pallas, 

(in the parish) of Forney (and county) of Longford, 

on the 29th Nov., 1731. 

Trained in letters at Dublin. 

Died in London, 

4th April, 1774." * 

* The original inscription is In Lalin, and the above is Forsters' transla- 
tion. The date of Goldsmith's birth Is Incorrectly given in Westminster 
Abbey : it should be 1728. 



332 The Story of English Literature 



From Goldsmith's Deserted Village, 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, 
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, 
A village master taught his little school. 
A man severe he was, and stern to view ; 
I knew him well, and every truant knew ; 
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 
The day's disaster in his morning face : 
Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 
Full well the busy whisper circling round 
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. 
Yet he was kind ; or, if severe in aught, 
The love he bore to learning was in fault ; 
The village all declared how much he knew. 
'Twas certain he could write and cypher, too; 
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 
And e'en the story ran that he could guage \ 



For Voting Readers. 333 

In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, 

For, e'en though vanquished, he could argue still. 

While words of learned length and thundering sound 

Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around. 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew 

That one small head could carry all he knew. 



-^34 The Story of English Literature 



XIII. 

DOCTOR JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES. III. 

The Doctor and his lady friends — Mrs. Thrale and her guests 
at Streatham — Fanny Burney's first novel — Mrs. Elizabeth 
Montagu and the '* Blue-stockings " — Amusements and fes- 
tivities at '' Thrale Hall " — Tea-parties and fashionable so- 
ciety in London — Favorite topics of conversation in 1780 — 
Doctor Johnson as a talker — His whimsical household at 
Bolt Court — His house as seen to-day — Mrs. Thrale's mar- 
riage and coldness to old friends — Last days of Dr. Johnson. 

AMONG Dr. Johnson's friends were several la- 
dies noted in that day for their wit, learning, 
beauty and social grace. It was the age of brilliancy 
in conversation, and dinner-parties at three or four 
in the afternoon were followed by tea-parties in the 
evening, or " assemblies," which were very like our 
" receptions " and to which numbers were invited for 



For Young Readers. 337 

the purpose of conversation, cards, and a cup of tea. 
Dr. Johnson was frequently to be seen in society of 
this kind as well as at his club and the dinners of his 
gentleman friends ; and for some years he was almost 
a constant guest in one particular household, that of 
Mrs. Thrale at Streatham, of which I must tell you. 

Mrs. Thrale was the wife of a wealthy brewer and 
was noted for her vivacity, cleverness, and powers of 
entertaining company. She was the friend of all the 
great literary men and women of the day. She was 
good-humored, obliging and witty, but wanting in 
depth or tenderness of feeling. To her friends she 
was everything while her affection lasted ; and to Dr. 
Johnson both she and her husband w^ere for years all 
that kind and indulgent friends could be. 

" Thrale Hall," at Streatham, was near enough to 
London to make the drive in and out easy in a few 
hours ; and the great family coach with its liveried 
servants was often seen in Fleet Street near Bolt 
Court waiting to fetch Dr. Johnson to the hospitable 
country-house. His room there was constantly in 
readiness ; a plate was always laid for him at table, 
and he was considered so much one of the household 
that people who wanted to see him went oftener in 
search of him to Streatham than to his own house in 
Bolt Court. 



33^ The Story of English Literature 

Every attention was paid to him by the Thrales 
and their household. The Doctor's carelessness in 
dress was such that Mrs. Thrale wisely provided 
some fine additions to his wardrobe which were kept 
for him at The Hall j and at the dinner hour, as he 
passed from the library to the dining-room, a servant 
stationed in the vestibule gravely lifted his old brown 
wig from his head and replaced it with a fresh one — 
the old wig being laid on his dressing-table for use 
on the following day. 

To Streatham came, as I have said, all the literary 
celebrities of the day. Among others Miss Fanny 
Burney, a 3^oung lady whose fame in 1778 was some- 
thing extraordinary. She was the daughter of Doc- 
tor Burney, the musical critic, and had written a novel 
Q,d^^^ Evelina ; or a You?tg Ladfs Introduction to the 
Worlds which was published anonymously, not even 
her own parents knowing that she was the author. 
She sent it privately to an obscure bookseller named 
Lowndes, who paid her a small sum for it, and waited 
in fear and trembling for its appearance in the world. 

The book was hardly on his counters for sale be- 
fore it became the great topic of the hour. Edmund 
Burke sat up all night to read it ; Dr. Johnson went 
about wildly asking every friend he met who was the 
author ; and Miss Burney's own family read it aloud 




Mrs. Thrale. 



For Young Readers. 339 

with expressions of wonderment and delight, not 
knowing that the frightened little authoress sat by 
listening. Evelina may be read to-day with interest 
and pleasure. It gives a perfect picture of the life of 
the day, and is quite free from all the coarseness 
which disfigured Richardson's and Fielding's nov- 
els. 

Mrs. Thrale, who was always on the watch for new 
literary celebrities, was determined to discover the 
author of the famous Evelma ; and Dr. Burney, to 
whom Fanny had confided her secret, whispered it in 
confidence to Mrs. Thrale. * Accordingly Miss 
Fanny was at once invited to Streatham where she 
was petted, praised, and lionized to the utmost. In 
the Diary published after her death, in 1840, we may 
read a detailed account of the period ; of Dr. John- 
son's sayings and doings at Streatham ; and of a host 
of other noted people. 

Among others came the celebrated Mrs. Montagu, 
famous for her wonderful powers of conversation, and 
for her elegant entertainments in Portman Square, 
where she established a literary society which became 
known as the " Bas-Bleus " or " Blue-Stockings," from 



* Miss Burney afterwards wrote Cecilia and CaniiUa, besides a Life of her 
father, etc. She was manied in 1793 to Monsieur D'Arblay, one of the 
French emigris. 



340 ^ The Story of English Literature 

which we have the term in present use. The name 
originated in a trifling circumstance : 

Among those who, attended Mrs. Montagu's as- 
semblies was a Mr. Stillingfleet, a well-known author 
but noted for his carelessness in dress. A gentleman 
seemg him in the midst of the elegant company one 
evening in gray knitted stockings, gave the people 
who tolerated this the name of " The Blue-Stocking 
Society." 

*' Ah," exclaimed a Frenchman who was present, 
"/<?J bas-hleus P^ and the name thus applied has clung 
ever since to literary people. 

Mrs. Montagu was not the only distinguished 
guest who met Dr. Johnson and Fanny Burney at 
Streatham. Thither came Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 
dramatist and orator, a gay, reckless, handsome 
young man who was one of the greatest geniuses of 
the age. In The School for Scandal Sheridan showed 
the great social folly and vice of his time, that of gos- 
siping about everybody's private affairs, which, in- 
deed, was prevalent in the days when Mrs. Thrale 
and Mrs. Montagu were at the height of their fame ; 
and the play when first performed in London created 
a profound sensation. 

At Streatham the mode of life was typical of the pe- 
riod. The guests usually strolled about the grounds 



For Young Feaders. 343 

or read in the library for half an hour before the ten 
o'clock breakfast. The mornings were passed in va- 
rious occupations ; but all re assembled at three or 
four o'clock for the afternoon dinner, as customary 
in the houses of the gentry. 

After dinner came tea in the drawing-room, when Dr. 
Johnson always drank innumerable cups which Fanny 
Burney poured out for him while he sat near the urn 
talking, or rather discoursing in his deep voice, in- 
terrupting himself now and then for a hearty laugh, * 

Supper in the dining-room at ten or eleven con- 
cluded the day ; but it was a meal over which all the 
guests lingered, being sociable and brilliant, and I 
think the Streatham dining-room must have been in it- 
self a fascinating room ; for it was adorned with por- 
traits painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds. There were 
the pretty, gay Mrs. Thrale and her handsome, re- 
served daughters, the master of the house, and Dr. 
Johnson, its presiding genius ; these and many others 
hung about the dining-room walls. 

Occasionally all the party used to go into London 
together ; meeting soon after for a conversazione at 
Mrs. Thrale's grand town house in Grosvenor Square, 
or at Mrs. Montagu's where all that was brilliant, 

* The tea-urn used at Thrale Hall during this period was recently sold at 
auction for a great price. 



344 ^^ Story of English Literature 

learned, or beautiful in London society was sure to 
be found. They were a very worldly set of people, I 
fear ! 

Many names have come down to us since that pe- 
riod famous for nothing better than the beauty which 
lasted but a few short years, or the wit which con- 
sisted in certain flippant speeches and sparkling rep- 
artees uttered in the celebrated drawing-rooms of the 
day. Society, however, was very much better than it 
had been a century before. Learning had advanced; 
statesmanship was an art; and with this period are 
connected the names of Fox and Burke, Sheridan 
and Pitt. Ladies of rank began to take an interest 
in attending the debates in the Houses of Parliament, 
and the American Revolution was talked of over 
many a cup of tea in Mrs. Montagu's drawing- 
rooms. 

Dr. Johnson was well enough pleased to exchange 
the dullness of Bolt Court, or even the gayer supper 
company at his club, for the animated conversaziones 
in the Thrale and Montagu circles ; and we can pict- 
ure him, always quaint and rusty in dress, arriving at 
Portman Square in his sedan chair and making his 
way into the brilliant drawing-rooms, where every 
possible color and fabric, every variety of jewels, 
laces and embroidery are displayed in the costumes 



For Young Readers. 345 

of the guests : the ladies with towering powdered 
heads, crowned with ostrich plumes, in which dia- 
monds flash, with stiff brocaded gowns, mitts, huge 
fans, and high-heeled shoes ; the gentlemen in long 
" cut-away'- coats with wide pocket-flaps at the sides, 
vast waistcoats of embroidered satin, tight knee- 
breeches and silk stockings, their powdered hair 
drawn into a queue at the back, their faces orna- 
mented with black "patches" and sometimes with 
powder and paint itself. 

We can fancy these people discussing the topics of 
their day, — the forgeries of the boy-poet Chatterton, 
whose melancholy death excited all London ; the 
wonderful letters of "Junius" about whose author- 
ship all England was curious ;* or the Italian music 
at the opera-house, which was then a novelty. Eng- 
lish art, too, was in its way a fresh and novel subject ; 
for the Royal Academy was only just fairly started, 
and but few English painters were known. And the 
scientific experiments of Watt and Benjamin Frank- 
lin were the subject of endless speculation. 

Dr. Johnson, we may be sure, had an opinion on 



* Thes-i admirable Letters appeared in the most respectable newspaper of 
the day, the Public Advertiser, and were on various political topics. They 
were signed Juniiis ; but in spite of every effort made their author was not 
discovered. Quite recently experts have decided that "Junius" must have 
been Sir Philip Francis (1740 — 1818.) 



34^ The Story oj English Literature 

every subject, whether discussed among the " Bas- 
Bleus " or the witty gentlemen of the club ; and even 
in his own house in Bolt Court his conversations 
were worthy of record, odd and mixed as was the 
company he had gathered about him there. 

Bolt Court still exists, and you may walk into it 
from Fleet Street, just as Dr. Johnson did, through 
a low, narrow passage under a shop which brings you 
into a paved court, long and narrow, and surrounded 
by respectable old brick buildings. The visitor who 
has once seen a picture of Dr. Johnson's house will 
quickly recognize it here at the upper end of the 
court — a long shallow building with a quaint door- 
way in the centre and heavy knocker. The rooms 
within are large and comfortable ; the panels and 
woodwork of the awkward winding staircase are of 
oak, unchanged since the Doctor and his friends were 
here : and we can almost see him and his eccentric 
household enter and mount these well-worn steps. 

What an odd company it was ! In the upper rooms 
lived a Miss Williams, an old lady who managed the 
Doctor's modest establishment, and to whom he gave 
a home because she had been a friend of his wife. 
Robert Levett, a man who had some knowledge of 
medicine but no faculty for making his way in the 
world, also lived in the house ; and so did a Mrs. 




Dr. Johnson's house, in Bo]t Court. 



For Young Readers. 349 

Desmoulins and her daughter, to whom, besides 
shelter, Johnson gave half a guinea ( % 2.62 ) a week. 
A Miss Carmichael also seems to have been one of 
the household, and a negro servant, Frank, who had 
been a sort of legacy to the Doctor from a friend. 
Johnson wrote of his " happy family " to Mrs. Thrale : 

"Williams hates everybody. Levett hates Des- 
moulins and does not love Williams. Desmoulins 
hates them both. Poll (Miss Carmichael) loves 
none of them ! " 

Levett and Miss Williams both died a year or two 
before their benefactor, and, in spite of the wrang- 
ling which had gone on in the household. Dr. John- 
son truly mourned them. 

About the same time a cloud came over his friend- 
ship for Mrs. Thrale ; and, though for a time he con- 
tinued to visit Streatham, he was no longer happy 
there. Mrs. Thrale had decided, against the advice 
of all her friends, to marry an Italian singer named 
Piozzi ; and, as Johnson strongly disapproved of the 
marriage their friendship was no longer the source of 
rest and comfort it had been to him. Mrs. Thrale 
married Piozzi after various delays, and withdrew 
gradually both from Dr. Johnson and her once loved 
and petted Fanny Burney. 

The Doctor was very feeble in health at this time 



35© The Story of English Literature 

and ventured but rarely from Bolt Court; but he 
never lacked pleasant society. The most famous 
men of the time used to come and sit at his bed-side ; 
and he retained his wonderful powers of conversation 
until the very last day of his life. He died on the 13th 
of December, 1784, and was buried in Westminster 
Abbey by the side of Goldsmith's monument. 

The Poet's Corner where he sleeps is full of the 
great names of English Literature ; but as a recent biog- 
rapher has said, there has seldom lived a man so widely 
known and admired and beloved, not for what he wrote 
but for what he was^ as Samuel Johnson. 



For Young Readers. 351 



Writers of the Period. 

Samuel Johnson, L. L. D. 1709 — 1784. Lexicographer, 
poet and essayist. Wrote " Dictionary of the English Lan- 
guage , " various poems and essays in the Rambler and the 
Idler, etc. " Rasselas, or the Happy Valley" (a story); 
"Irene "(a tragedy); "Life of Savage;" "Lives of the 
Poets ; " "A. Journey to the Hebrides ; " ( Ed. ) "Shakespeare 
with preface and notes ; " " London ( a satire ) ; " "A Volume 
of Political Essays,"etc. 

James Boswell. 1740 — 1795, Barrister and writer. 
Known solely by his " Life of Dr. Johnson," which ought to be 
, classed with Johnson's work as it is simply a record of the daily 
life and remarkable conversation of his learned friend. 

Oliver Goldsmith. 1728 — 1774. Poet, novelist and 
dramatist. Wrote " The Traveler ; " " The Deserted Village ; " 
" The Hermit, or the story of Edwin and Angelina " ( poems ) ; 
" The Vicar of Wakefield " ( a novel ) ; " The Good-natured 
Man" and " She Stoops to Conquer" ( comedies ) ; " Histories 
of Greece, Rome, England," and a " History of Animated Na- 
ture ; " " The Citizen of the World ; " or " Letters from a Chi- 
nese Philosopher, residing in London, to his Friends in the 
East," etc. 



352 The Story of English Literature 

Edmund Burke. 1728 — 1797. Statesman and author. 
Wrote "A Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of 
the Sublime and Beautiful ;" "Reflections on the Revolution in 
France," etc. Burke's speeches in Parliament, especially on 
the impeachment of Warren Hastings, are among the grandest 
orations of modern times. 

• Richard Brinsley Sheridan. 1751 — 1816. Dramatist, 
statesman and orator. Wrote the following plays : "The Ri- 
vals ; " "'The Duenna;" "The School for Scandal;" "The 
Critic ; " " The Stranger ; " and "Pizarro/' ( the last two being 
adaptations from the German of Kotzebue. ) . Sheridan also 
wrote some masterly speeches, etc. 

Edward Gibbon. 1737 — 1794. Historian. Wrote "The 
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire;" " Autobiograph}'," 
etc. 

David Hume. 17 ii — 1766. Historian and infidel philoso- 
pher. Wrote " History of England ; " and many famous es- 
says. 

William Robertson. 1721 — 1793- Historian. Wrote 
" History of Scotland; " " History of America ; " " History of 
Charles V.," etc. 

Samuel Richardson. 1689 — 1767. Novelist and printer 
Called the " Father of the English novel." Wrote " Pamela ; " 
" Clarissa Harlowe ; " " Sir Charles Grandison." 

Henry Fielding. 1797 — 1754. Novelist. Wrote "Jo- 
seph Andrews ; " " Tom Jones," etc. 

Tobias George Smollett. 1721 — 1777. Novelist. Wrote 
" Roderick Random ; " " Peregrine Pickle ; " " Humphrey 
Clinker," etc. 

William Collins. 1720 — 1765. Lyric poet. Wrote 
" Ode to the Passions," etc. 

Edv^ari) A^oung. 1684 — 1765. Poet. Author of "Night 
Thoughts," etc. 

Thomas Gray. 1716 — 1771. Lyric poet. Wrote "Elegy 
in a Country Church-yard," etc. 

Mark Akenside, M. D. 1721 — 1770. Poet. Wrote 
•* Pleasures of the Imagination, etc" 



For Young Feaders. 353 

Lord Chesterfield. [ Philip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of 
Chesterfield.] 1694 — I773- A famous leader in society and 
celebrated for his " Letters to his Son ( on Fashion, etiquette, 
and worldly success, etc. ) " 

Rt. Hon. Charles James Fox. 1749 — 1806. Statesman 
and orator. His speeches in Parliament have been published 
in six volumes. 

Sir Philip Francis. 1740 — 1818. PoliUcal writer. Sup- 
posed author of the famous " Letters of Junius." 

Horace Walpole, Earl of Orford. 1717 — 1797- Wrote 
*' Aedes Walpolianae," ( a catalogue of his father's pictures, 
etc. ) ; " Catalogue of Royal and Noble authors ; " " Catalogue 
of Engravers," (Illustrated); "Castle of Otranto ; " "The 
Mysterious Mother. "( a drama); "Memoirs;" "Correspond- 
ence," etc. 

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. 1690 — 1762. Known 
chiefly for her remarkable "Letters." A few of her poems and 
essays were published but are of little value. 

Mrs. Elizabeth Montagu. 1729 — iSoo.[ Cousin of Lady 
Mary.] Wrote "An Essay on Shakespeare," ( in reply to Vol- 
taire ) . Also noted for her "Letters" published after her 
death. 

Madame Frances D'Arblay [ Miss Burney ] 1752 — 1840. 
Novelist, etc. Wrote "Evelina;" "Cecilia;" "Camilla," 
( novels ) ; " The Wanderer," (a tale ) ; " Edwin and Edgitha," 
( a tragedy ) ; " Memoir of her father, Dr. Burney ; " and her 
famous "Diary and Letters," etc. 

Alexander Cruden. 1701 — 1770. Bible scholar. Fa- 
mous for his one work, the " Concordance of the Lloly Script- 
ures." 

Elizabeth Caeter. 1717 — 1806. Classical scholar, etc. 
Works: "Translation of Epictetus;" "Explanation of New- 
ton's Philosophy for the use of Ladies;" "Ode to Wisdom," 
and other poems, etc. 

Allan Ramsay. 1625 — 1758, Scotch poet. Wrote " The 



354 The Story of English Literature 

Gentle Shepherd," ( a pastoral comedy ) ; " Tea-table Miscel- 
lany," ( a collection of songs ) etc. 

Thomas Chatterton. 1752 — 1770. Poet and literary im- 
poster. His principal poems are " The Tragedy of Ella ; " 
" Ode to Ella ; " "Execution of Sir Charles Bawdin; " '' Battle 
of Hastings ; " "The Tournament;" "Canynge's Feast," etc. 

John Wesley. 1703 — 1791. and Charles Wesley. 1708 
— 1788. Founders of Methodism and famous for their hymns 
and theological writings. 

Minor Poets oe the Period. 

William Mason, Matthew Green, Rev. John Dyer, William 
Shenstone, Charles Churchill, John Byrom, Ann Steele, Will- 
iam Falconer, John Armstrong, Christopher Anstey, William 
Whitehead, William Julius Mickle, etc., etc. 

Theological Writers. 

Bishop Warburton, Bishop Challoner, Alban Butler, John 
Gill, Nathaniel Gardner. 



For Yowig Readers. 355 



XIV. 

THE CLOSE OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 

Richard Brinsley Sheridan, dramatist and orator — His brilliant 
career and sad end — Cowper and his poems — Early mel- 
ancholy and subsequent insanity — Origin of the ballad of 
John Gilpin — Lady Austen suggests the Task — Horace 
Walpole and the associations of " Strawberry Hill " — Gray's 
Elegy in a Country CJmrch-yard — An extraordinary auction 
sale — Robert Burns, the ploughboy, becomes a social lion at 
Edinburgh — His temptation and fall — Chatterton, the " boy- 
poet " and literary forger — His singular deceptions and sad 
ending. 



I 



s 
N this chapter we can only glance at the career of 

a few authors whose place in English literature 

belongs to the same period as Dr. Johnson's though 

it extends as far as the end of the century. 

Richard Brinsley Sheridan, the dramatist and 

author, of whom some mention has already been 

made in the story of Dr. Johnson, was a distinguished 

and brilliant man, much admired in London society 



35^ 7he Story of English Literature 

but unfortunately dissipated in his habits and pos- 
sessed of a passion for running into debt, which 
made his last years almost disgraceful. He was born 
in 1751, and early in life married a Miss Linley, of 
Bath, a famous beauty whose picture you may see 
to-day in the gallery at Dulwich. He came to live in 
London, where his first play, The Rivals^ was per- 
formed in 1775, with immense success. Not long 
after he produced The School for Scandal, and later, 
The Critic, and by these three plays he will always be 
known and admired. Sheridan wrote other plays, 
and also entered quite a difficult career. He became 
a member of Parliament, where he distinguished 
himself by making one of the greatest speeches ever 
uttered in the House of Commons. The occasion 
was the trial of Warren Hastings, who had been 
Governor General of India, and was accused of gross 
mismanagement and fraud. Sheridan might have 
earned the highest place in the history of his time, 
but for his unfortunate habits. He died in 1816. 

William Cowper, born in 1731, was a poet of wide 
celebrity in his day, and his comic ballad, John Gil- 
i)in, and famous poem The Task, are still read with 
enjoyment and profit. Cowper's life was extremely 
sad. He was afflicted with a nervous melancholy 
which sometimes iresulted in outbreaks of insanity ; 



For Youn^ Rcaaers. 



35? 



but his periods of rest were clieered by kind friends, 
among whom a Mrs. Unwin and Lady Austen were 
the nearest. Cowper was the son of a clergyman ; 




William Cowpek. 



he chose the law as his profession and occupied 
rooms in the Temple where he used to spend more 
time in writing "gay verses" and dining with literary 
friends than in looking: for legal work. His father 



358 The Story of English Literature 

died leaving him but a scanty income, and his men- 
tal affliction debarred him from accepting the gov- 
ernment appointment which his friends secured for 
him. For a time he had to be sent to an asylum, 
and on coming out he went to his kind friends, the 
Unwins. Here it was that he met Lady Austen, who 
told him the comical story of John Gilpin's ride, 
which he immediately put into verse. The same 
lady afterwards suggested to him a poem of greater 
length. '■ I will set you a task," she said one day. 

" What shall it be ? " asked Cowper. 

" Oh, begin about anything," answered Lady Aus- 
ten, " the sofa," touching the one on which she sat. 

Forthwith Cowper developed his idea of a long 
poem in blank verse which he called The Task, and 
the first portion of which was The Sofa. Mrs. Un- 
win's death plunged Cowper into grief and melan- 
cholly, his insanity returned, and in 1800 he died. 

In the pictures of the last half of the Eighteenth 
century we see always a certain elegant, graceful 
figure, a fine gentleman with a dignified air and 
assumed cynicism, or love of ridiculing real feeling 
and sentiment, a man of great talent, which he was 
always trying to hide as if ashamed of it. This was 
Horace Walpole, the son of Sir Robert Walpole, 
Prime Minister of George II. He will always have a 



For Voting Readers. 359 

certain celebrity, both for his famous letters and 
memoirs, and for the associations of his home, 
"Strawberry Hill," which in the reign of George III 
was noted for its distinguished and brilliant society. 
Here Walpole had gathered together every sort of 
bric-a-brac, making his house and grounds a museum 
of quaint and beautiful objects from every country 
and period known to history. Walpole was a better 
man at heart than he allowed the world to believe, 
for he scoffed and sneered at the very things he 
really admired, and turned to ridicule his own senti- 
ments. His letters are addressed to various people, 
but those to Mann and Conway are the best known. 
He became Earl of Oxford in 1791, and died in 
1797. 

Thomas Gray, [1716-1771.] author of Elegy in a 
Country Chtirchyard, and other poems, was one of 
Walpole's early friends. Gray led a secluded life 
which he devoted to writing, and was less known to 
the people of Johnson's day personally, than by fame. 
The original manuscript of Gray's Elegy was sold 
at auction in London in 1845. The two small half- 
sheets of paper on which it was written brought ;^i 00 
sterling. The MS. included five verses omitted from 
the editions published in Gray's lifetime. 

Robert Burns, (1759--1796] a Scotch poet, was the 



360 The Story of English Liter attire 

youngest of the great writers of the Eighteenth cen- 
tury. He was a poor plough boy and published his 
first volume when very young, for the benefit and 
amusement of his country neighbors. A Dr. Black- 
lock, meeting with the book, invited Burns to 
Edinburgh, where he was cordially received by the 
best class of people. Edinburgh was then beginning 
to rank very high in the literary world, and an en- 
thusiastic circle formed around the young poet whose 
future seemed to promise great things ; but unfortu- 
nately he fell into habits of intemperance, and died 
at the early age of thirty-seven. His ballads, poems 
and fragmentary verses, beautiful as they are, only 
show us what he might have done had he lived to 
grow stronger than his temptations and make the 
best of his genius. 

Thomas Chatterton, [i75-( 770] known as the ''boy 
poet," was much talked of in Dr. Johnson's day, and 
certainly few lives have been more extraordinary than 
his. His father being sexton of an old church at 
Bristol, he managed to gain access to some parch- 
ment manuscripts of the Fifteenth century, which 
were kept in the muniment room j and these probably 
gave him the idea for his famous forgeries. He wrote 
some beautiful poems which he published as the work 
of an imaginary monk called " Thomas Rowley," and 



For Young Readers. 361 

a merchant named " W. Canynge," declaring that he 
had discovered them in an old chest in the church. 
These and other forgeries in imitation of old MSS. 
deceived many people and provoked endless discus- 
sion among antiquarians and scholars including Dr. 
Johnson, Horace Walpole, Gibbon and others. Chat- 
terton came to London, sought literary employment, 
hung about the coffee-houses to listen to the conver- 
sation of Goldsmith, Dr. Johnson and other noted 
men, but his pride prevented his making known the 
real want he was in. It reached to absolute hunger, 
but he refused the dinner offered by his landlady, 
and the next day was found dead in his miserable 
garret — some said by suicide; horror, perhaps, at 
the web of falsehood he had weaved about himself in 
trying to carry on his impositions, despair, and actual 
hunger, drove him to the reckless deed ; and instead 
of developing and elevating his wonderful talents, he 
ended his life thus disgracefully, in his eighteenth 
year. 

Before the close of the last century many men and 
women had begun work which afterwards made their 
names famous, but their story belongs to the Nine- 
teenth century, and must be given in a separate 
volume. We have now traced, in a sort of outline 
only, the story of English Literature from the time of 



362 The Story of E?iglish Literature 

Chaucer to that of Cowper and Dr. Johnson, and 
have seen the gradual change worked in the minds 
and manners and affairs of men during four centuries. 
Poetry, the Drama, History, Fiction, Oratory and the 
writing of Essays — all these were clearly developed 
at the close of the Eighteenth century. But the period 
we have just been considering, that of Dr. Johnson, 
had one great defect : it was artificial. Men wrote 
and talked in an unnatural, high-flown, or even frivo- 
lous strain. I do not refer, of course, to great states- 
men, like Burke, the two Pitts, Fox and Sheridan 
nor yet to the clergy ; but to society in general, 
and to the most popular writers of the day. A sim- 
ple, frank, and natural style was wanting. Burns, 
indeed, who depended upon only his natural feelings, 
having but little education and nothing of what is 
called culture^ wrote in a simple, unaffected strain 
which could hardly have been imitated. Gray came 
near to it, being strange and at the same time natural. 
But perfect freedom and at the same time grace in 
poetry, the natural and true to life in fiction, and a 
well-balanced completeness and finish in criticism 
and biography belong to the Nineteenth century. As 
we go into it we must take leave of the gay and 
splendid company we have been journeying with ; we 
are to see no more ruffs and brocades, cocked-hats, 



For Yoimg Readers. 363 

knee-breeches, swords and sedan-chairs; but if the 
scenes we are about to pass into are less picturesque, 
they will at all events seem more real, for they are 
only those of our yesterday, and the names we shall 
read, the faces w^e shall see, the voices whose words 
we shall try to catch, are those familiar to our own 
times. If vanished, it was but a little time ago, and 
if among us, to be heard and seen constantly with 
some new expression. 



364 The Story of English Literature 



From Cowper's Task. 



\_ Rural Sonnds.'\ 



Not rural sights alone, but rural sounds 
Exhilarate the spirit, and restore 
The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds 
That sweep the skirt of some far spreading wood 
Of ancient growth, make music not unlike 
The dash of ocean on his winding shore, 
And lull the spirit while they fill the mind. 
Unnumbered branches waving in the blast, 
And all their leaves fast fluttering all at once. 
Nor less composure waits upon the roar 
Of distant floods, or on the softer voice 
Of neighboring fountains, or of rills that slip 
Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall 
Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length 
In matted grass, that, with a livelier green, 
Betrays the secret of their silent course. 



For Young Readers. 365 



Song by Robert Burns. 
Men IE. 

Again rejoicing nature sees 

Her robe assume its vernal hues, 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 
All freshly steeped in morning dews. 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw, 
In vain to me the violets spring ; 

In vain to me in glen or shaw, 
The mavis and the lintwhite sing. 

The merry plough-boy cheers his team, 
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks ; 

But life's to me a weary dream, 
A dream of one that never wauks. 

The wanton coot the water skims, 

Amang the reeds the ducklings cry ; 
The stately swan majestic swims, 
And everything is blessed but I. 



366 The Stoiy of English Literature. 

The shepherd steeks his faulding slap, 
And owre the moorland whistles shrill ; 

Wi' wild, unequal, wandering step, 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 
Blithe waukens by the daisy's side : 

And mounts and sings on flittering wings 
A wo-worn ghaist, I hameward glide. 

Come, "Winter, with thine angry howl, 
And raging bend the naked tree. 

Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, 
When nature all is sad like me. 



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